First Pressure

Cold iron. Deep silence. Then... a pulse inside. Warmth gathered along the belly of my boiler. I felt the immense weight pressing down into the gravel below. I exhaled. A thick plume of gray steam drifted upward from my stack, meeting the shadow of the tunnel arch. Beneath my front cowcatcher, a loose stone sat on the ballast. With deliberate effort, I eased forward by a single fraction of an inch. Clink. The metal buffer nudged the stone, rolling it aside. My wheels held firm. Momentum was real.