Bacchus Valley land of Werewolves and Lucia

The smallest detail of a dream.  A carved relief in an underground cave, not yet discovered by anyone.  (Man, those dreams get frosty overnight.)  I wandered the land of ice and snow and crawled my way deep into the earth to a place of strange treasure.  The orbs of stone.  The walls of stone and glass.  The cold, dark sanctuary of art.  We pillaged the place.  We looked for precious things.  We identified the boon, looking for the names of each gem or jewel or stone.  And with each passing item, I found more strange things.  But one thing, on the wall, caught my attention.  One thing made me pause in time and forget that I was an adventurer, set out to sea to find this place.  In the land of ice and snow, I found Bacchus on the wall, looking at me to take him down.  Wine appeared, quite suddenly, in my glass.  I was a lady wearing the warrior marks and the wind blown, grassy fabric, but I was in the temple of a strange god.  He's not so strange now.  I gulped the draught of wine and took down the relief of the demi-god in his shrine.  Eons protected and he was mine.  My mind, a cauldron and pentangle.   In that instant, I could hear the incessant howling of the wolves.  My mind saw the blood colored snow they left behind.  In this land of wolf and ice and blood and sea, in this land of rock and wine, I had to move across the stone floor to the tunnel and dig my way out with Bacchus under my arm.  It was like digging from a womb out into the brilliance of sunlit snow.  All the while knowing death is chasing you down.  The Bacchus wolves howled and I knew they were in pursuit.  Funny how, even death can cast a shadow.  Back to the boat now, with wine in your veins and your god in tow.  You and the other rioters run until your vessel carries you home.  Inside the wood, on the waves, riding to Sun, I could relax with art I had plucked from time.  He came home with me.  Shuddering against the stars on the water as chunks of ice flowed by.  I held him up against the starry sky.  I wondered at his journey and this sojourn over the cold watery mirror.  He was writing, in me, his Magical Menagerie.  Until we arrived home on the thirteenth of December.  My demigod of wine and my candles I wore.  Lucia girl and Star boy.  We lived in our land of Winter with the god of Summer.