I could still smell her on my fur. It clung to me, a memory of another world.I was drunk with it, with the scent of her. I’d got too close.The smell of summer on her skin, the half-recalled cadence of her voice, the sensation of her fingers on my fur. Every bit of me sang with the memory of her closeness.Too close.I couldn’t stay away.
― Maggie Stiefvater,
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