He stayed in one of the most intact sleeping cabins for the rest of the journey, the griffons downstairs conversing and eating breakfast. Handy would rather not be down there right now, not after what happened with Hirsild. The wind rushed past the window and it was cold, but there was bugger all that could be done with it. He was thankful the cabin came with a door that actually closed. The cot was too small for him as always, but he was sitting up against the wall on it, thinking. He had taken off his breastplate, helmet, and pauldrons and wore his heavy cloak over him. It was practically all encompassing and warm.