Please? Now that was a word Altair should've found more usage of before Cygnus began his punishment. It pleased Cygnus to no end to hear the scream torn from the slave's lips, each scream a prayer to whatever goddess Altair prayed to. Whichever one he prostrated before, it must've been a merciless one, for no divine intervention came from the heavens above.<br/><br/>Radiant sun rose over the horizon, orange hue now consuming the sky in all its glory. The golden braid that had once been deftly braided had loosened, dissolving into waves of shimmer. Eagerly did it suck up the sunlight - and it shone, shone like polished iron. He was still a pretty slave - and undoubtedly he would remain the same, even after this whipping - but the slave would believe otherwise. Altair would not be ruined, nor tarnished as he thought. But he would learn the bite of the whip came to those who spoke without caution.<br/><br/>Once.<br/><br/>Twice.<br/><br/>Thrice did his whip hit Altair, across his shoulders, the middle of his back, and again on his lower back, forming ruby lines that went down his back. The three lashes had been within a second of each other, one followed by the other. He had lashed Altair five times by now, and he still hadn't counted. It seemed that the slave was truly unaware that he would need to count, and he would need some reminding.<br/><br/>"Can't count, can you slave? How many slashes are we at? Count aloud for me."