In a way, yes. [ Allairavar's eyes fall half closed and his head tilts. ] You feel like Spring breeze. Crisp like an apple but tart. [ Most witches were, but Allairavar wasn't sure if she'd understand the context and see only insult. So, he kept that to himself. ] A hint of earth.

It's been my pleasure. [ He replies with equal sincerity. ] If you learn the patterns of psychic scents, they can tell you much about the person in front you. Not just their caste, but who they are. It's an art many fail to learn and it's to their determent. Trust what you sense from another and trust what your instincts tell you about it.

[ One of the kitchen staff came by to collect the knives Allairavar had sharpened. The young witch, wearing a Summer-sky Jewel seems to have no problems chiding him for seeing to a task that any of them could have undertaken and he seems to indulge her chiding with the feeling that next week, he'll do it again anyway. ] If there's nothing else, I should go make sure that no one else has forgotten which end of a sword is the pointy one.