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At last! Maximus breathes new air -- fresh and full of vigor. Sophia has returned to him! He takes little note of her words or the petulant frown on her seductive lips. Instead, he strides to her, lifts her in his arms and takes her inside his house. She protests, growls at him, batts her hands on his shoulders but there's something else there ... a twinkle in her eyes along with the fatigue of travel. Perhaps she needed this display of her lover's welcome as something strong, unyielding and joyous...

Hours later, the cool evening mist has stolen across the lands here. Maximus rises, his movements fluid, easy. On his feet, he gazes around his bedroom, keen eyes picking out objects with new acuity. He looks over his shoulder, a soft smile and a raised eyebrow, almost smug but nothing so shallow. Sophia lies, round and exhausted, atop his mattress. He pulls a sheet over her sleeping form and leaves her to rest.

He moves through his home in the buff, his feet making no noise as he goes. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he strides out onto the back deck and stands staring off over his vineyard, cast in an otherwordly glow from the mix of low fog and high yellow moon.

Another time steals over his thoughts, drawing him back to other moments, other lands. His hand falters in the movement of wineglass to lips. He thinks he hears a wolf off in the distance but he knows the distance is time, not miles.

Something is happening, Maximus tells himself. Why then does he smile?

Maximus enjoys walking the vines, touching the new buds, examining the old growth, fussing over the supports. He can let his mind wander even as he walks each row. When he hears Sophia's voice, he's pulled instantly back to attention to his other surroundings, not just the plant before him with its heavy burden of ripened grapes.

He puts out a hand and motions to her to join him. When she reaches him, he looks at her outfit solemnly before kissing her in welcome. When he releases her, he says, "It won't be long and you'll be able to wear those boots for stomping grapes."

Sophia raises her chin and shakes her head.

"No? You won't be a grape stomper? You don't know how grateful I am ... besides, it's all done by machines now." He pulls her into his arms and turns her to face the plant he's been examining. "Do you know what kind of wine this grape will make for us once its been stomped?"

"A red one?" she ventures.

"Here. Let your tongue figure this out." Maximus pulls one of the grapes off the bunch and holds it in front of Sophia's mouth. She opens and he places it very gently on her tongue. "Do not bite it -- yet."

Her eyes widen as she makes the effort to stop the natural impulse to chew on the grape.

Maximus puts his lips at her ear; his voice hits the low register that vibrates through Sophia. "Let it speak to you first. Suckle it, gently, until the first of the juice runs onto your taste buds."

He holds her. He doesn't have to see her face to know she's concentrating very hard on doing as he's asked. He can feel it in the way she leans into his body.

"Now, roll the grape gently along your tongue and let more juice escape." He waits for a few seconds until he feels her swallow the juices. "Now, set in your mind what that taste was, Sophia. Tell yourself the qualities you notice. And once you have it all set, then chew into the skin very rough and very sure. Good, good. Now you may swallow the whole grape down."

Still holding her, he whispers, "Close your eyes. And now tell me, Sophia -- did you notice how very different the juice tasted by itself -- from how it tasted when mixed with the skin's taste? Good. Now tell me, what kind of wine shall I make with this? What does your tongue tell you?"