Hideaway Strath what's more wrong; that I too wish to be great

His march took him from the desert, walk steady. He took his time to not overheat, to not die before he fulfilled that request Germanicus placed on his shoulders.

So, he walked. Until the ground turned plush beneath his feet, and the temperatures cooled, and nothing stopped him from speeding up.

Past Akashingo’s Mesa, through the wilderness he once ran through (did they ever find Khaba, he wondered), through the mountains, and to unexplored lands.

The Hinterlands opened before him, and he ducked and avoided wolf scent to track the furthest he could from civilization. He came out stumbling, half in delirium from little sleep and long travel. But he stood here, at the great entrance of a fortress. Breath coming in cutting pants, Aquillius observed the passage further into the strath with trepidation. The smell wafting from within seemed to speak of horrors, of a death he could not have fortold. Something deep in him spoke of safety. Of the defensibility of such a place. Station the sentries there, and there. Muster your forces at the crux of the moon’s light through the passage. No one gets in. No one gets out.

Aquillius’s tongue darted from his lips.

Perfect.

Civilization had laid its feet here, Aquillius would learn as he went further into the strath, but whoever was here was long gone. Only blood, soaked into the dirt.

When @Germanicus found his son, he’d find he’d already picked a battlefield to make his home.