Ciríaco closed his eyes and drew a deep breath of the salty air. He heard people walking about the ship around him, the city folk shuffling about and shouting in the dock and barrels being rolled aboard. Sea gulls shrieked in the sky, and he felt as if he could feel the fish swim below. As long as he kept his eyes closed, it was as if everything was exactly the way it had always been. But the moment he opened them again and witnessed the remains of Sintra once more, he knew that it was of course not so.

Letting the air out again, Ciríaco overlooked Sintra from deck, hands firmly placed on the rail. He had not been sure what he felt about this town. It had seen him fed and nursed, yet abused and tormented. It was his home, yet never felt liked it. He had left when possible and he didn't look back. Nevertheless, he had returned to Sintra and established himself there throughout the years anyway. Never staying, yet always returning. And yet, Ciríaco now knew that Sintra had set him on the path that was now leading him to Morocco. Sintra was his, and he was Sintra's. Looking upon the destruction, he felt not anger, but purpose. There was a meaning to all of this, and he was in the centre of it. He wasn't sure what it all meant, but Ciríaco knew he was meant to destroy that hellish beast, for whatever reason.

Suddenly, Ciríaco became aware of his thoughts and let go of the rail. That.. [i]beast[/i]. Its attack on Sintra had turned something on inside him, and the pseudo-intellectual philosophical ramblings in his head were part of it. He had continuously had similar thoughts ever since he woke up in Paulo's basement in the morning, and didn't know what to make of them. He had always been a pragmatical man, and none of these thoughts coincided with his values. And yet, they felt too real to disregard.

Shaking his head, Ciríaco turned from Sintra and went below deck. He had already chosen a bunk, and sat down on it as he found it. It felt strange sitting in this end of the ship. He was used to the other side, where the captains slept. Nevertheless, he took out a pocket mirror - which had miraculously survived the earlier ordeal - from, well, his pockets, and began working on the mess that was his face.