The morning of the match, the day they were to climb the mountain, began not with a roar, but with the quiet, rhythmic click-clack of a train on the tracks.
The journey north to Manchester was a world away from the tense, silent train ride to Manchester. The mood was professional, focused, but underscored by a current of quiet confidence. The fear was gone. They had faced the fire and emerged not just unscathed, but stronger. They believed.
Wilfried Zaha and Christian Benteke were holding court at a table, a game of cards in full swing, their easy laughter occasionally cutting through the low hum of the carriage.
Yohan Cabaye, the picture of continental class, was engrossed in a book, while Andros Townsend stared out of the window, lost in the rhythm of his music.
The younger players Nya Kirby, Eberechi Eze, Connor Blake, and Aaron Wan-Bissaka were clustered together, a tangible ball of nervous excitement and youthful bravado.
