"a man with a man's needs" had been a common refrain upon the march of young men, hardly more than boys. in months of travel, perhaps traveling through unbroken days of torrential rain, there was little else to do but contemplate aloud the spoils that surely waited them.

as one of those boys, germanicus had not joined in their hooting. they thought him spoilt for he was a son of the emperor, but he proved himself no prince. the centurion beat him as hard for infractions as any other peasantborn and it was through those bruises that he slowly gained their respect in his own right and one unattached to the name of his father.

he had never been immune to women, clearly, but his first sensations of desire in young blood had not been for them. it had been for the centurion who had laid him so low so he might rise properly in the legion.

and while such pairings were not forbidden, they were quite improper. as he grew into power and responsibility, into his own command, he saw often among the young men two or three in their number who might watch him for more than the technique of sparring. but his skin remembered the hazings, and his sense of agency was too sensitive. it was why he had denied crowfeather through two marriages and four children.

mirwen continued her flirtations and germanicus wondered if she thought to turn her polished charm upon him for a game. his response was a silent immersion into the shadows, and for a long while he did not return.

the grouse was laid beneath the tree. this time he did sit, though his posture remained upright and watchful. what trade had she meant?