For once, instead of brutalizing Altair, he nodded. "A shawl you want, a shawl you'll have. Not because you asked, but for the sake of necessity," Cygnus said. Without further word he went back to his cabin, retrieving a thin but large blanket. It was no shawl, but it would suffice in covering Altair and preventing him from blister. He would've left Altair without, but the slave made a point - in the sun, his skin would crack up and take on the texture of stone if he were left uncovered. Some might mistake it as a sign of plague, and that would then force him and his crew into quarantine by shore for many days. Their food storage was enough for twice their remaining journey, but was nowhere near enough to survive them through a long quarantine.<br/><br/>Cygnus came back, and dropped the blanket on Altair. Around them his men shuffled about, and still none had gone below decks. The same men shuffled around nervously, gazing at each other with uncertain eyes. No one wanted to go below decks.<i>By the gods, they've become sheep with fear, </i>he thought.<i> Must I take Altair out of their presence completely so that they can rest? It must be so. </i>"Men. Head down and rest," Cygnus ordered. "If you go without rest any further you're going to turn our ship into a funeral pyre." Cygnus crouched down and unlocked the manacle around Altair's leg.<i>It would be preferable to keep you here longer, but I may as well drag you elsewhere to give my crew peace of mind. </i><br/><br/>"Stand and come with me to my cabin," Cygnus instructed. He reached for Altair's arm, using it to pull the slave up to his feet. "Well? Move," Cygnus said, pushing Altair forward. With persistent nudging Cygnus guided Altair to his cabin, opening the door and pushing him inside. Then he shut the door, turning back to watch his men hesitate in going down. With a dark glare the men finally heeded him, and began to file down below decks to rest.<br/><br/>Entering his cabin once more, Cygnus dragged Altair over to the chair placed in front of his desk, urging him to sit. "Sit," he said. "Enjoy your time unbound, because you may have only fleeting moments of it." Circling around the desk, he picked up a quill. Opening a drawer of his desk, he pulled out his log, and opened it up, beginning to write. His focus was now on the log, Altair forgotten in the faint scratching of quill against parchment.