There is a steady patter of rain on the roof formed by the overturned boat. We three huddle beneath, wet and bedraggled from the storm that threw us up on this shore. Valeria lies on her belly and peers out, ever watchful, through the crack between the upside down rim of the boat and the soggy ground. The heat of our bodies in such close quarters makes our shelter fill with mist. Ribbons of steam flow from our mouths and noses.

I stretch out my arms, extending the voluminous folds of the blanket, damp but warm, to Amlaidh. The Roman clothing is quickly shed, much to my delight and relief. Valeria has fallen asleep and is snoring softly, in harmony with the distant rhythm of the sea. Amlaidh and I wrap ourselves around each other with stealthy affection, making an under cover game of finding ways to make love with hardly a sound. A sweet challenge compared to the wild dance we shared before this. The woods, the berries, the lusty abandon seems like a sweet dream tonight. The silent urgency of now is very raw and real.

Afterwards we fall back into each other's arms, sighing with the wind and the rain, into deeper dreams.