My home is not a place, it is a person, sir. - Lois McMaster Bujold

But at least think about it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being who needed to get laid worse than you do now.

The arrow of justice flies one way.

They stared at her curiously and she caught snatches of conversation in two or three languages. It wasn’t hard to guess their content, and she smiled a bit grimly. Youth, it appeared, was full of illusions as to how much sexual energy two people might have to spare while hiking forty or so kilometers a day, concussed, stunned, diseased, on poor food and little sleep, alternating caring for a wounded man with avoiding becoming dinner for every carnivore within range—and with a coup to plan for at the end.