He saw the great red engine, lying on its side. It was unrecognizable as the proud creature he had met at Crap End, the one that had scattered his wits with its hard-edged beauty. ... Now the engine lay twisted and mangled, its old rotten heart ripped out and scattered among the trees, a charred and helpless remnant of something which burned brightly only in the memories of old men. ... And then the sadness of it all crashed over Strum like a great wave, and he sobbed like a child. He cried for a very long time, there in the moonlit forest by the misty river, until there were no more tears in him.