Cristiano swam in the deepest part of the river with his head only half above the water so he could comfortably continue to breathe. He didn't need air, after all. Though the fresh water of the river felt strange, thin, it was the cough that he hacked almost consistently that bothered him most. He looked pale today, considerably so given his usual tan, and on more than one occasion when he coughed there was blood on the sea silk rage he covered his mouth with to muffle the sound.
Barely able to talk above a whisper he raised his hand and asked when called upon, "What happens if we win? Where do we go?" And he proceeded to cough.