Achilles always found the banks of the Little Tiber to be relaxing. The water was so loud, at least he'd been told it was, that it was hard for anyone to hear anything. It made him feel more included to know that everyone could feel at least sort of like him. He was considering going back to the camp - hopefully the forges would be fairly empty and he could get around to making the armour he promised himself he'd make two years ago. One day he'd forge. He'd already made armour and weapons for a few of the legionnaires, but he'd never made his own...
But now his thoughts were off-topic. They were always off-topic, but this was completely unrelated. He was supposed to be thinking about the water. Not thinking about forges. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, causing his trademark goggles to slip off his head and land on a rock, sliding slowly towards the rushing stream.