Tavin woke because nothing was moving.
No wheel striking the same bad patch at each revolution. No animal shifting against a loaded harness. No driver calling the hold down a line of wagons. The room beneath him stayed still, and for several seconds his body treated that as information requiring an answer.
Then he remembered Bracken Weir.
The train had arrived.
He lay back and let the knowledge reach the places that had not believed the receiving marks the previous afternoon.
Outside, someone was arguing about a lifting sling.
That was reassuringly ordinary.
He dressed, took his boots in one hand and went to find food before responsibility noticed him. Deni sat beneath the yard roof with her supported arm and a crew account open beside the bowl. She looked up as he approached.
