The valley, landlocked though it was at present, would fill up without warning when the orange rain fell from the white sky. Since I'd arrived here, everything had been draped in this blank, soulless light. Apparently, you can't see real sunlight at all due to the cloud density. That would partially explain why one rain shower could fill a valley, although I still wasn't quite sure why only certain areas were rained upon whilst others in close proximity stayed cartoonishly dry.
The bones of a grass whale could be seen from the viewing platform. A National Trust sign next to one of the metre-thick windows explained that grass whales would often swim into the valleys from the sea during rainfall, burrowing into the marsh as the water eventually descended into the ground. Sometimes you can feel the vibrations of them moving around beneath the surface - the platforms need reinforced eco-steel foundations to prevent them from surfacing through the floor.
The rooftops of buildings here are even stronger - the rain is heavy, and, when it's blue, it's harsh and alkaline enough to erode.