# Chapter 32
Streams of water were gushing madly out of Eutostea’s palm as if a riverbank burst out. Something finally happened. Grabbing her hand, Eutostea was in agony. Apollo held her tightly in his arms, who was writing in shock, and then he slowly walked out of the pond. He was more afraid that Eutostea, in panic, would drown in the water.
‘Did she say wine? Wine?’
That was when he licked the clear liquid that wetted his lips. He smelled the aroma of white thyme honey. It wasn’t a wine made of grapes. It was mead that could be said as common. However, he had never tasted something like this before. The sweet flavor, almost numbing his tongue, was like a smokescreen.
