The lonely tracks (a place description)

Blackness scours the sky with lashes of silver sun streaks. The hills rise, a dark pallid green in the failing light, bumbling like drunks into the jagged rocky slopes of Mt. Reneir. The tracks lie heavily -- steel and cedar, an endless line of dead immigrants and convicts -- in rutted channels dug out of the hillside. They wind around some smaller peaks and disappear near the muted purple remains of the euthanized day. The treeline at the edge of the rocky cliffs is patterned with old-growth firs and younger quaking asps, at once dying and begetting, generations of sentinels casting shadows over a hushed domain.

No idea what happens there - seems like a pretty nice place though.