en Cuevana. The vine bore fruit, and it's harvest time. Soraia, a young girl, cuts herself. Blood mixes with wine. A black bull is on the loose. Up in the oak trees, time swells, and a community takes shelter. They share bread and wine, memories and dreams, the history of a landscape. We enter a long night, where nature also speaks. The fiery wind that brings the heatwaves, it's burning.
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