The sun dipped below the western spine of the valley, dragging the last bruised light of day down with it. As the shadow of the mountains stretched across Miller's Ridge, the temperature plummeted, stripping the residual heat from the fractured shale.
The heavy, rhythmic violence of the work day was over. The dull thud of iron pickaxes and the grinding scrape of the earthmovers had ceased, replaced by the low, tired voices of the Pendelton labor crews. Men were packing their tools into heavy wooden crates, securing the latches, and beginning the long walk down the temporary trail toward the base camp.
Behind them, they left a landscape violently interrupted by geometry.
