The smell always alerted her to his presence. She was familiar with scents: jasmine, sage, and mint; every variety of perfume. She knew what effect each scent had on a man and on a woman. But no smell ever made her feel the way the smell of his jacket did. It was a rich and aromatic old leather smell. Not the smell of new, fresh leather, but worn leather, saturated with the scent of him. It was strong and natural. The smell of it made her think of a life she didn't have. A life of natural wildness. She could summon visions of sunbathed plains of rippling grain and wobbly-kneed calves dancing among wildflowers. Of harsh wilderness and hot sun. She could not separate these from her supposition of war. Of brutal battles and dying men. She'd always looked down on the Independants; thought they were simpletons and rabble-raisers. But the smell of his coat awakened some yearning that she could not explain. She wished that she, like Zoe could have shared that part of his past. She wished that she had the right to adore the coat he wore. So it was, with mixed images and feelings she could smell him when he was near. She thought herself a silly girl to recognize a man by smell and delight in it. But she couldn’t help it.