Luneshale Pass bread and butter pinot noir

It was the hour of blackest night under a herd of slow-moving clouds, dense as carded wool, and still the bazaar of creatures attending to business on the bleached rocks was visible to the naked eye. Disa watched them buzz and skitter and rattle from her seat next to a patch of freshly applied urine. It smelled heavenly, and after almost a month in the company of no-one but herself, Disa very much wanted to meet the producer. Sharp, grey eyes scanned the flat landscapes for signs of a night patrol. Someone had to be out here.