I steam into the station, looking like a 'sour faced lobster who accidentally inhaled a lemon at 60 mph (my fireman's words, not mine) where Duke is sizzling away on the track next to my already-shunted train. "Couple up, youngster!" Duke tells me, grandly. "I'll lead,"

Not wanting him to have the run his way, I snipe back, "No, I'll lead. How can I learn the line when you're right in front of me, blocking the view?" I allow myself the satisfaction of selfish pleasure as Duke lets out an angry whoosh of steam at my defiance. Refusing to be cowed into submission, I merely glare at him. He glares back at me. We remain this way until the guard yells at us that if we remain like this for much longer, we'd make everyone late for the train.

Not wanting to disappoint the passengers, Duke eventually gives in. "As much as this is unsuited to His Grace, I'll let you lead this train," he concedes with a low growl, and I smirk in quiet triumph. "But don't get cocky, young 'un- that route has dangerously sharp bends, so you must watch the track at all times." He adds, warningly.

"Yeah, I hear ya," I retort, but inside, I feel so euphoric that I can lead the train! I feel so happy at this unexpected development that I decide to ignore Duke's warning about the dangers of the line.

Besides, he's probably exaggerating about the danger of the line. He's already tried to scare me with some fictional villain of the railway he won't tell me about; and now he thinks I can't handle some measly, tiny bends!

I'll show him…

…..

Twenty minutes after we had departed the station, the two of us are making good progress along the line. Behind me, Duke pants to keep an eye on the track ahead, but I ignore him again."Silly old fusspot!" I mutter crossly. "Fuddy-duddy, fuddy-duddy!"

Still, the line is nice to look at; lush green valleys sweep the Sudrian landscape; rapeseed glows in the sunshine; sheep graze contently in little white specks on the hills; the smell of fresh grass wafts through my nose; the sky shows a gorgeous aquamarine blue with few clouds to be seen. In short, it's perfect.

Well, maybe not the gradient of the line. I should have a word with whoever thought it'd be funny to torture engines with such a steep line.

"Falcon; keep your eyes on the track!" Duke tells me again, interrupting my thoughts with an impatient growl. "There's a tunnel ahead."

"Pooh!" I retort, but Duke's right- a black, gaping hole stands in front of me, looking menacing- and to make it worse, I can't see any light coming from the other side. With a sigh, I clatter my way into the tunnel, with Duke and the coaches trailing behind me.

…..

Turns out the tunnel's curved- that's why I couldn't see any light straight through. I slow down, not wanting to derail in the dark. Behind me, I hear Duke click-clack- click clack along the line, like those strange letter-writing things the humans call a 'typewriter,' which I think is silly because you can't write types.

The coaches roll along smoothly behind us, with no problems whatsoever. Despite the darkness of the tunnel, I feel no apprehension or fear; just eagerness to escape the tunnel and continue on our journey without further intervals in the dark.

…..

I have no understanding of how eyes function, other than they close when we sleep (or die, in more extreme cases) and can be dazzled by light too easily after exposure to the dark. Unfortunately, this happened to me after we leave the tunnel. My eyes squint as I burst out into the sunshine and I wince, speeding up a little to try and run away from the sun's rays.

The next thing I know, my driving wheels are no longer off the rails, and I come face to face with the valley below us- which is scarily high for my liking.

"Young idiot!" Duke hisses at me. All I can do is gulp in fright- what have I done to deserve this sense of doom? Oh, wait. Maybe that shouldn't be answered. I certainly shan't ask Duke- if he was able to use one of those typewriters and had a decent grip of the English language, he'd probably be able to answer that question in an essay.

I try to ask Duke to help me back onto the line; but my voice has deserted me, and I struggle to say a word. Fortunately, I hear him straining behind me, grunting and panting. All the while, I notice my driving wheels are slowly moving back towards the track.

"Stop shaking!" Duke orders. "I can't hold you if you shake!" I want to argue that I'm about to fall to my death here, am I not allowed to show my fear? But my driver does gently pat my cab as he and my fireman scramble out and shakily leg it for safety. Well, maybe I will be alright after all. I might come back home alive and in one piece. I take deep breaths to try and control my quaking, reminding myself that I am still coupled to Duke, and that he is doing his utmost to rescue me from my impeding doom.

Maybe-

"Duke's running out of water!" Yells his fireman, and my heart sinks at this proclamation from Fortuna herself. Lord, if I ever get out of this situation alive, I'll be nicer to Duke. Or, try to, anyway. I mean, I will put in more effort into being polite and respectful, even when it's hard...