Skiers zipped past, pivoting and slaloming down the steep slopes. Snowboarders sounded off as they zoomed along the top bridge of snow, seemingly sated by the weather. Seeing this, Sam stepped into their Snow boots, silently sneaking out to the slopes to practice.
"Where do you think you're going?" Sam's dad sneered. He sighed, handing him the skis. "Come on, you can't sneak by me without a good old ski with your pa, can you?" He shook his head, heading off towards the nearest lift.
The gondola dragged on, the two French girls talking so fast even Sam's Dad couldn't understand, the doors finally opening to a beautiful breeze and brisk bracing cold. Sam shivered, looking at his Dad, as he scuttled off, in search of a map yet again. "I'll remember to keep this one, promise!" The slopes seemed steeper than before, or was it the weather? "Come on!" Sam's Dad began to slalom and pivot, parallel turning down each passing mogul in sight. The hills grew higher, gaining them speed with each pass. It was almost too much for Sam, but only almost. Once they reached the end, Sam's Dad showed him the sign, it read
'BLACK RUN, ONLY FOR EXPERIENCED SKIERS AND SNOWBOARDERS'
In english, French, and German.
Sam beamed from ear to ear as they skidded down the Blue to their side.
YOU ARE READING
The Night's Fire-flaught (and 8 other winter stories)
RandomI wrote all of these mid November, and had them saved up for December.
