"She opened her eyes. He sniffed. Holding her breath, she waited. He sniffed again. "Is it an herb, ?" She nodded, smiling shyly. "Rosemary." "The cook at Tullock puts it in turtle soup." Her smile faltered. She smelled like a turtle? Not a fragrant loaf of bread, but a turtle? "Surely you've smelled it in some other dishes, too? Bread, perhaps?" He shook his head. "In a delicious stew, then? Something savory and warm?" He released her cloak. "In my country, we throw rosemary onto graves." She just looked at him, appalled. "That seems odd to you, ? Rosemary keeps fresh the...How do you say-?" He tapped his forehead. "Thoughts about times no longer here." "Memories?" " ! Rosemary keeps fresh the memories of the dead." Lovely. She smelled like a turtle and the grave."