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Description
A Grey day, the stone walls of the railway cutting are shrouded in the thick fog. Little Jane skips down the old stone walkway from the back door of the delapidated house where she grew up, on her way to fetch bread from the market of the town, far away. Through the rusted, ornate spirals of the destroyed wrought-iron gate. Jane will need to walk all the way down the old cutting where, at one time, a grand and wonderful railway once ran. Jane loves exploring the iron hulks that lay along the line. People tell her these huge things once propelled themselves up and down these tracks, wreathed in smoke and fire, but she knows very well this is not true. Nothing so huge, and so clearly inanimate, could have ever done the wonders people claimed they did. Still, she enjoys climbing through the spaces between the intracate and enourmous parts, looking at the little birds who's nests adorn the smashed out lanterns and corroded fittings.

As she crawls up the embankment and skips down the line, someone in the wreck of another nearby shack just over the vine-covered stone bridge begins playing a harp, the notes waft over the old fire-eaters of long ago.

Description
A Grey day, the stone walls of the railway cutting are shrouded in the thick fog. Little Jane skips down the old stone walkway from the back door of the delapidated house where she grew up, on her way to fetch bread from the market of the town, far away. Through the rusted, ornate spirals of the destroyed wrought-iron gate. Jane will need to walk all the way down the old cutting where, at one time, a grand and wonderful railway once ran. Jane loves exploring the iron hulks that lay along the line. People tell her these huge things once propelled themselves up and down these tracks, wreathed in smoke and fire, but she knows very well this is not true. Nothing so huge, and so clearly inanimate, could have ever done the wonders people claimed they did. Still, she enjoys climbing through the spaces between the intracate and enourmous parts, looking at the little birds who's nests adorn the smashed out lanterns and corroded fittings.

As she crawls up the embankment and skips down the line, someone in the wreck of another nearby shack just over the vine-covered stone bridge begins playing a harp, the notes waft over the old fire-eaters of long ago.