The odor of its alcohol base grew steadily stronger as she approached.

There was nothing to be done for Gweir, so we moved on, the odor growing more potent with every step.

The odor grew increasingly pungent and I could feel a little strength returning already.

The odor grew stronger, and I could almost place it.

But the odor grew stronger, more compelling, urging me on.

With the air flow moving toward her the odors, all of them, grew stronger.

With each step the odor of smoke grew more noticeable.

There was an odor now, faint but growing stronger.

The odor of standing water grew steadily stronger as they rode.

An odor of burnt hair, mild at first, quickly grew stronger.