The snowstorm swept over the route of the train, a heavy gray curtain enveloping the cold ground, with a pitifully short visual distance and extreme low temperatures. Even breathing that bone-chilling cold seemed to freeze one's heart and lungs.
Fierce steam burst from the train's engine, condensing into ice crystals before dispersing. It was a new model Lorenzo had never seen, the train's combustion chamber was half open, and as it sped, endless sparks scattered along, akin to the only light in this cold night.
Only a few carriages could shield against the snowstorm. Most of this train's carriages were open containers, hidden under dark green waterproof cloth, unseen beneath it. Hard snowflakes flew like speeding ice blades, striking continuously as if a steel rain was descending.
Lorenzo's figure slowly appeared in sight, perhaps due to the strong winds atop the carriage. He seemed to sway unsteadily, and through the snow curtain, Lawrence could barely discern that gray shadow.
