The cold mountain drizzle coated the rusted iron rails of the viaduct loading approach in a slick, greasy sheen that smelled of wet ballast and old coal smoke.
Loccy hopped down from the high wooden staging dock, landing with a soft, balanced thud on the crushed basalt stones packed between the twin railway tracks.
Her long white rabbit ears were pinned flat beneath a rain hood fashioned from heavy waxed sailcloth, swiveling independently as she listened to the rhythmic clank of approaching iron along the upper grade.
Behind her, the mountain gorge dropped steeply away into a canyon filled with churning grey mist, where the river crashed against jagged boulders four hundred feet below.
Beside her, Ferra knelt over the rear draft coupling of the twenty-ton loading bed, tapping a long brass inspection chisel against the cast-iron draft gear.
