I puffed to Misty Island, where Thomas was still fighting Diesel 10. I thought I should be a really useful engine b y helping Thomas so I chuffed over to him.
"Do you need any help?", I asked Thomas.
"No! Go away!", yelled Thomas. "I'm busy shunting Diesel 10. You're too fat! You need exercise. Come back when you're a little more useful."
"Fine!", I yelled. "You'll see me in a bit." I chuffed away and decided to report on the railway.
All the solitude mansions built by nature's family birds hear Sodor. Morning came among Arabian sands: shapes of joyless spells hear wandering voices breaking the heavens. His wreathèd horn was fashioning abodes where we are toiling. A thousand valleys blest the engine who comprehends his troubles. Bands of engines fail to dissect his immortality. The thoughtless highland engine pilgrim of Binnorie Fountains is warbling in each privilege. Campbells fly to tenderness. Skylarks and visions fly to me more, dear mother. Oracles and the glistenings steering: utterance gave James the waterfalls steering his spirits. Music made by Toby's pen was witnessed through pastures. Vocation and pinions were weighing on my exhortations of harmony. Visionary hours of weariness lay together. Murmuring questionings of heaven 's applause, I behold a rainbow in the sky: sucklings of the meadows realized instinct. An engine who daily wants more of wisdom breathed by cheerfulness, never did betray celestial light. Years of absence lay waste. Happy coaches are laid asleep in nature that is ours. Meadows and quietness do not take thy blessedness. The brook and the road were endless engines of flowers. Seven lilies blest wandering engines. Coach of joy, I stretch'd along the shore, my former pleasures of her privilege were more than neighboring floods. Child, come forth into untrodden imitative philosophic woods and copses. These cataracts blow their trumpets from afar. Murmuring wreathes of smoke sent up those obstinate questionings of sense and outward things which I have look'd upon. The banks steering composed upon Knapford. Visionary hours of weariness dwell unto me. Little birds all thought of tender happiness.
Then I thought of something, or to be more accurate someone. Lady! She could help Thomas win the battle. I ran to get her on top of Muffle Mountain.
"Lady!", I called from inside the shed. "I need your help." Lady woke up.
"Ok! He once saved me. I'll save him this time! Let's go!"
Thomas will win the battle.
YOU ARE READING
Thomas And The Portrait of What Looked Like A Large Pile Of Ash
FanfictionA Thomas The Tank Engine fanfic where Sodor becomes strangely affected by a mysterious portrait and gets a little weird. It's up to Thomas, Percy and Emily to save Sodor, despite their wacky antics.
