Between rest and writing, Cygnus had been stuffed inside the cabin for a little more than a day. He could see that most of his crew were up, bustling across the decks to make sure that all was well with the ship. The storm had been intense, and any damage made to the ship's body would need to be known so that countermeasures could be taken to insure that the ship did not sink.<br/><br/>He was well aware of the risks that came with Altair being left unbound in the cabin. If the slave so wished, he could destroy the cabin. Most if not all of the logs that Cygnus kept in the ship were stored inside of his cabin, tucked inside one of the drawers of the desk. Altair could easily open the drawer, and smear ink across every one of the pieces of parchment, obscuring the text beneath. Or, if he were strong enough, he could tear the parchment to shreds. But leaving Altair alone was a test.<br/><br/>Altair wanted to live. The slave had pleaded in whatever manner he could to stay alive. Even when he had threatened to toss himself off the ship, Cygnus could tell that he was lying. It had taken whipping and rape for Altair to learn that, perhaps, he should be treading carefully in the presence of the captain. But even after the ordeals, the slave still possessed infallible pride, still lashing out with his tongue when he had managed to take offense at the captain's words.<br/><br/>Above all, however, Altair wanted to not be in a constant state of pain. Under the threat of pain the slave had snapped, discarding his pride and falling to his knees, begging in the most pathetic of manners to be spared of harm. Cygnus wanted to test the slave — would the slave give into his pride and destroy the room, or would he falter and obey Cygnus' command, and write?<br/><br/>For a while he prowled around the ship, watching the reactions of his crewmates. Now rested, they were more calm, less likely to give into mania and panic compared to before. From time to time some looked over their shoulders, as if fearful that some spirit might appear and push them overboard. The crew was less jaunty than usual, which is what he expected. They were weary from the storm still, even with rest, and some silently mourned Mors while others were still afraid for their lives.<br/><br/>Finally, all of the assessment that needed to be made were done - surprisingly, the vital points of the ship had remained intact. Some of the sails had been torn, but the tears were tiny and would hold until shore. The ends of some lengths of rope had to be cut, on account of being frayed. The same went with the other two merchant ships that he and his crew had captured — he had delegated the captaining of those ships to two of his more senior men, and he trusted that they would be able to maintain their ships with the men he had supplemented to them.<i>The Siren </i>needed the attention of one captain, as did the other ships.<br/><br/>Desiring to check their position in the sea, Cygnus returned to the cabin for a navigational tool. A kamal to check their latitude, as it was nearly dark enough to see the stars out. Altair was writing as he had commanded, filling in the book with the dying daylight. He walked over to the wall, where he had the rope of the kamal hung on a hook. Then he walked over to the slave, pausing him in his writing and picking up the book.<i>"</i>Let me read what you have written thus far."<br/><br/>He stood as he was, flipping to the last page he recalled reading. Altair's fancy script greeted his eyes, as he began to read the next passage. As he began reading, he felt himself being filled with rage. "Slave... you were meant to write about Dusan. Instead, you wrote about your time on this ship... care to explain why that is so?" Cygnus asked. He gave the slave a cold stare, the stare of a man that was on the brink of murder. "Why."