Rohan settled in, spear across his knees, and let himself breathe properly for the first time since the drainage cut.
The first hour passed in near total silence, broken only by the occasional distant clang of cargo being resorted somewhere above him and the low, steady thrum of the ship itself, a sound so constant it began to feel less like noise and more like the pulse of some enormous sleeping animal he'd folded himself inside the ribs of.
He used the time to take stock, because Maerin's voice lived permanently in the back of his skull at this point, dry and unimpressed, reminding him that idle waiting is not the same as rest, and rest is not the same as safety, and confusing any of the three will get you killed.
