The black-haired, middle-aged man who had been speaking to the mundanes, as they all huddled around the roots of an intriguingly blue-tinted vine, stands up and brushes dirt from his hands. "Ah, greetings Wolfram! I wondered when I might have the pleasure of meeting you," he says with a smile. "My time you will have plenty of, if you are willing to share it with my grapes. For I can't neglect them, not at this time, indeed not. Come, let me show you some nice views, and we can talk as we walk."
He gestures toward the path made by two adjacent rows of vines planted on the same terrace. Wolfram notices that Peter's palm and finger tips are stained a reddish-purple, as are most surfaces of his formerly-white clothing. A pruning knife is tucked into the cord around his waist and a wine skin and a pouch hang from straps looped over one shoulder.
Before starting off down the path, Peter turns to speak to the mundanes, who are trying hard not to be rude in their visual inspection of the newcomer, "Now that you know what to do, please see it done." He then shifts his attention back to Wolfram, as they begin walking at a slow pace that is easy for Wolfram to maintain, "Regarding the first two topics you mentioned, I suggest we defer those for a later time, when we can sit down together over a bottle and focus on the inane and the arcane, respectively. As to your presence here, I thought it was you who submitted the application to come to Fengheld, no? What do you hope to achieve here?" These last questions were asked in a kind way.