"You pulled off a miracle here, Librarian."
The comforting smell of wood, words, and wonder that meant the Library, meant home, called him to wander the stacks and finally relax. The stench of blood on his cuff froze him in place with memories of just how close it had been. A miracle indeed.
But the sharp smell of balsam from Bathsheba's oil and sweat from sustained labor cut through both and allowed him to climb to his feet. Here was something useful he could do: get his exhausted guardian off her feet.
"Even heroes need to sleep."
"Lead on, Guardian."
Word Count: 100
Notes: Eve's funk-breaking (no pun intended) powers have reached epic levels at this point; not many people can break a brooding spell by simply smelling sweaty.
This one went through the most revisions. I think I finally captured the feelings I wanted, though.