The hour is late and just beyond the tree line there's a light that flickers and dances in the stillness that warns of secret things being said, dark mysterious things going on it's best not to question. That dancing fiery light taunts, teases, tempts you to venture closer while the tickling finger of fear threads along your spine. In the deepest part of the forest there is a wisened face staring into those flames smelling, watching, stoking that fire, the smoke filling the air, coating his skin with a fine ash. He waits for that first sign, those first clear drops like diamonds that filter through twisting, turning copper pipes into the jar waiting to capture that fire-kissed nectar. He's there waiting and watching, ready to run, if light of a different color appears in the distance, blue or red. A small taste - of smoke, of amber and sandalwood, cooled with a drop of sweet nectarine brings a smile to his face. This one is good. This one will Shine!