Perhaps it was veracious that  freedom would be wasted on the man. Living under the subjugation of others for so long could do that to a man; clueless as sheep, and fearful as an coddled child. Or, perhaps it wasn't even that. A farmer born and raised could be given the command of an army of thousands  — but even if it were better than living poorly, he would reject it anyway. He would be unable to do little more than quiver his lip at the newfound power, neither strong enough nor willing to assume what they hadn't been sculpted to do.<br/><br/>At the prompt of his question, Altair drew his hand to his cheek, gently running his fingers over the grievous jag of scab. There was an unease in the air, as the slave froze in pensive thought. There was an astringency to the slave's voice as he recalled the events that occurred before his untimely upheaval from the ship, of the violence and violation he had received. Loathing for the souls that had caused him grief.<br/><br/>He touched on rape, and how his abuser had wielded his cock as a weapon. How he had been made to number the amount of times a whip flogged his back, or he would be whipped more. The revelation that the man had been raped was the final brick in the wall, explaining the blotchy bruises that had accumulated around Altair's thighs.  Now the outlines of the bruises upon Altair's body became more apparent. The strange craggy crescent bruises that peeked out from just above the blanket were bite marks. There were many of them, too many for a single man to leave. Yet, Altair had only described one man. But he pressed no further. The last thing that he felt the slave was hiding from him, he could discern himself.<br/><br/>Altair let his rage bleed into his tone, as he seethed at Snow for forcing truth out of him. "That's enough, yes," Snow responded in a unruffled tone. "Forgive me for asking. Though, you understand why I asked, no? I am responsible for the lives of the men aboard this ship as they are for my own life... my choice to rescue you may have been wrong, if you wished harm upon any. You are foreign and you were left in the sea to rot. I cannot help but find out why, so I can know whether or not you are trustworthy."<br/><br/>"Right now, you are neither trustworthy nor deceitful. But, I don't believe you are in a position to harm others. Until we reach Igna's End, you will be taken care of. Trust that your wounds will be nursed and healed. When we reach Igna's End, we will see what to do with you," Snow bent over, picking up a jug of fresh, cool water that had been placed on the floor. He set it on the bed, nudging it over to the slave. "Drink. You must be thirsty."