The hooves struck the dusty ground with an uneven rhythm. Night had already fallen, and the two riders advanced without a clear route, guided only by the moonlight and a sealed order.
Sextus rode with a frown. He wasn't a horseman. His back ached, his thighs burned, and the horse seemed to sense every hesitation in his movements.
"By Mars, if your plan was to kill me, you're succeeding," he grumbled.
Titus burst into laughter from his own mount, riding comfortably and steady.
"I didn't know you mounted horses like you were charging into battle. Do you always squeeze your knees like that? Or just when you're trying to look important?"
Sextus shot him a quick glare, barely keeping balance.
"When we're dead, I'll make sure you find out."
"No wonder Scaeva likes you so much. You're charming."
They rode in silence for a while longer, through open fields and hills fading into shadows. There were no signs, no enemies, no clear path.
Finally, Sextus tugged lightly on the reins.
"We rest here. You chose the horse, now you choose the direction. I've had enough for today."
Titus dismounted with an agile jump, stretched his arms, and smiled with that familiar mix of mischief and irony.
"What if I said… since this is a suicide mission… I could kill you right now and run? Go back to the Helvetii. Sell your head. What's stopping me?"
Sextus climbed down slower. His wound tugged with each movement.
"You couldn't. And you wouldn't. Not out of loyalty… but out of honor."
Titus looked at him in silence. Then he grinned, teeth showing.
"By the gods, you're worse than a Greek philosopher."
"And you're worse than a drunk donkey," Sextus shot back.
They both laughed—though not entirely in jest.
They lit a small fire with dry branches. The warmth barely cut through the cold.
"Go to sleep, hero," Titus said, resting his spear on a rock. "I'll take first watch."
"You're not going to run off while I sleep?"
"Not yet. I want to see you ride again tomorrow. Worth more than gold."
Sextus smiled with his eyes closed.
Silence settled around them. In the dark, beyond the fire, something stirred the air. Still far. But not far enough to forget.