Of course the trains must run. What else could they do with all this power? Feel how it pulsates through them, pushes one limb after another, jogs them into a gallop? With a belly full of steam and a carnival of terror, what else but put that power to use?

No wonder the knights exist! How else could the engines live, if there were not people who cleared the way? Would you dream of taming the Engine? Of reining it in, when every rivet and plate ache with awful energy? 

Even now, there's a part of them that insists that the only proper response to this insult is to kick the jet coaster off its moorings, and aim salvo after salvo of laden cars at the Long. How dare you not justify them with a fight? Do you not acknowledge them? You would simply leave?

But they know, terrible as it is, that this power is not infinite. Either the coal will burn through, or they will burn out under their own fury. They...

They must part. Must cease to be one, and become two, and the thought is agony. They finally understand what Mister Conagher had said, and will now separate again.

So, if they must be parted, they will make the most of it. Will shove the throttle to full, barrel through clowns, and run. There are friends to save, friends who must live, if they are to make it home. 

Come, Lucien. Let them show you why you must not fear trains. Behold their beauty, their grace. Come, meet the new Sasha.