Decius allowed the the Officer Marcus and the heathen to lead the way.  Decius surely had no clue which direction they were heading, but there was no alternative.  The look the heathen had given him warmed him inside.  Oh yes: She hated him.  Good.  These savages had always astonished Decius.  They had no appreciation for Roman civilization.  Instead, they chose to spurn Rome's great gifts so generously offered, and remain wallowing in pits of the lowest depths of barbarity.  To be sure, many of these savages had accepted and co-opted the ways Roman life, some of them even moving into Roman frontier towns.  Decius himself had served in a unit of Cheruscii auxilia as a noncommisioned officer during his previous assignment, learning the basics of their harsh language, and learning how they fought.  But most of these germanics clung to the old ways of drinking blood and howling at animal totems.  He guessed it would always be this way.  So sad.  But there was something romantic about it that he couldn't shake.<br/><br/>He decided to drop back a distance, no more than twenty feet or so, from the two and remove himself from what was now obviously turning into some sort of trail or track.  Instead, he walked parallel to the trail and avoided stepping on branches and twigs.  He made sure he kept Marcus in sight at all times, though.  It would have been unwise for them to be bunched together in a group should they enter an ambush.  He became their shadow.<br/><br/>He experienced a slight rush in pain every so often as he walked, due to the wounds he had received the previous night, but shouldered  on nevertheless.  He frequently glanced over his shoulder or reversed himself to see if they were followed.  Nothing so far, but it was only a matter of time before before he knew he must once again use his sword and javelin.