Splosh.<br/><br/>Hooves should not do this noise.<br/><br/>Splosh.<br/><br/>Publius curses the weather, the forest, the trees. He's forced to walk, because his horse would be too tired otherwise. He wonders if this was worth the effort. Three legions, advancing so fast in unknown territory, just to bend the Germans into paying tribute. What could Rome gain from their miserable tribute. He wishes for his family house, the olive trees, the rolling countryside.<br/><br/>Splosh.<br/><br/>He looks on his side, trees, on the back, trees, while in front of him he has trees. The legion lines are thin, stretches in the march. In front of him, the signifier.<br/><br/>Splosh.<br/><br/>Publius glances on the sides. Apart from his line of horses, the heavy infantry is proceeding on a single like.<br/><br/>Splosh.<br/><br/>A single line?<br/><br/>Splosh.<br/><br/>Publius speeds up to the signifier, patting the horse's face - shush, shush - to have a talk with him. What is Varo thinking? They should advance slower, and with more coordination.<br/><br/>Splosh.<br/><br/>"Hail Caesar Augustus! Greetings, Signifier. What is with the thickness of our lines?"<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>