Jorge, an old man with a face wrinkled and cracked like last year’s berry, kept his stories to himself. When Rioja had nearly decided it was time to move on, the old man began to speak. As the old man told his story, the shepherds carefully, silently stepped away into the darkness, one after another. Rioja saw the old man who led three hundred tiny ships against an entire flotilla, defending the black hole at Thermopylae. The old man was dead, and his smile was the mark of his victory, though Rioja couldn’t figure out what that victory meant.