A Ski Tale

Wind looked up at the snow-capped peak jutting up towards the clear blue sky and sighed deeply with longing. Last night's snowstorm had deposited a fresh layer of powder along the southern slope and it twinkled at him, beckoning him. From his perch on a high branch of his treehome, the mountainside was framed by the black branches of the old pine and had never looked a prettier sight than today. The conditions were perfect for a run down the slopes on his wood slat skis... but he really couldn't go.

Wind combed his finger through his short, dirty-blond hair, and shook his head sadly. He'd just come back from a ski trip to that very mountain. It had been a glorious run down the mountainside, his namesake wind tousling his hair and whistling in his ears. The speed! The shush of the snow under his feet! It was well worth the long hike up. He'd go again today in a heartbeat - but, it was getting to the hard part of winter, and the store holds don't fill themselves. If he mentioned another ski trip to Stormwatch, the chief would probably tell Wind that he was needed on a hunt instead.

Sighing again, Wind took a last look at the beautiful mountain and began climbing down the tree. He'd seen traces of bighorn at the summit yesterday. Being alone, he hadn't bothered to try hunting it down. At least, he could visit the mountain today - bighorn would be a good catch, and perhaps he could do a little skiing if he took his wood slats with him. Too bad it was impossible to carry a big catch down that fast slope, though.

Then his eyes fell on a figure walking under the tree, and Wind's spirits rose as inspiration struck. The solution to his problem was walking right beneath him and whistling a happy tune!

"Ashsmoke! Hey, Ashsmoke!" What a brilliant idea! He'd take Ashsmoke along, tell the entire Holt that they were hunting bighorn, and that would do the trick. Ashsmoke rarely came back from a hunt empty-handed, but he never came back with his intended game. They'd snag a brace of snow-rabbits up on the summit, or some pheasants maybe, and with those light burdens they could ski gloriously down the slope on their return. With a thump Wind landed in front of the startled archer.

"What is it, Wind?" Ashsmoke inquired. Standing together, the two wolfriders might have been brothers, being similar in coloring and build, but Wind's thick muttonchop sideburns betrayed him as much the elder.

"Want to come hunting with me? I was up on the mountaintop yesterday and found bighorn tracks. I need you to help me nab one." For an earnest hunt, Wind would have asked somebody else - anybody else -- but in this case, he had no trouble dissembling enthusiasm for Ashsmoke as a hunting partner. Ashsmoke filled his need exactly.

Ashsmoke's face lit up. "Mmmm - bighorn! Sure thing, Wind."

"Bring your wood slats - uh, just in case."

"Fine. I'll go get them, and say good-bye to One-Berry and Silvermist."

"I'll tell Stormwatch and get the wolves." Wind hastily gathered his own equipment and howled for Rushdown and Scruff while Ashsmoke went back to his own treehome. Then Wind went looking for Stormwatch. He found the Farcorners chieftain sitting on a shaped root near his tree, carefully oiling his sword. At Wind's approach, Stormwatch sat up straight, inhaled and stretched hugely, his broad, strong shoulders arching back as his fists reached straight up.

"Chief, Ashsmoke and I are going hunting for bighorn. Ought to take a day or two."

Stormwatch released his breath in a burst and relaxed. "Bighorn?" he asked. "Are you sure there are any near the Holt?"

"Aye, I saw their traces yesterday at the mountain's summit."

Stormwatch eyed the wood slats slung over Wind's shoulder. Humor sparked in his blue eyes. "With Ashsmoke, eh? Are you sure you're not just going skiing?"

"We'll get bighorn, mark my words." The more confidently he spoke, Wind felt, the more ought to go wrong.

Stormwatch burst into laughter. "Get out of here, you rascal!" He slapped Wind heartily on the shoulder, and watched him go with a grin. Wintersky would be irritated, he was sure. Stormwatch's lifemate would have run the Holt with a heavier hand, but Stormwatch didn't see the harm in letting Wind have a little fun. Wind was a dedicated hunter most of the time - when the skiing conditions weren't so good.

Ashsmoke and Wind made it to the mountain's summit in good time and with no mishaps. Despite the bright sun, it was much colder up here above the treeline than it was down at the Holt. The wind was piercing. They rode along a stony ridge until Wind sighted the stand of dry brush poking out of the snow where he'd seen hoofprints the other day. Wind idly wondered what Ashsmoke would flush out of that brush-some rock hens? A tuft-eared cat?

**That's where I-** Before Wind could even raise his arm to point, there was a crashing and a clatter of sharp hooves against stone, and a bighorn emerged. With the speed of thought, Ashsmoke had an arrow ready and drew his bow. The bolt flew sure and struck the ram behind the shoulder. It fell to its knees, hind legs still erect, and tried to stagger back up. Completely swept up in the thrill of first blood, Wind howled a hunting cry and urged Rushdown forward. Both wolves circled the ram, jumping in towards it. Wind drew his long two-handed sword and swung it, finishing the bighorn off. Intoxicated from the brief struggle, Wind leapt off his wolf and jumped over to Scruff. He gripped a laughing Ashsmoke in a tight embrace, then broke away to aim a comradely slap on his back. "We did it! Ayoooah! Easiest hunt ever! What a great shot! What-"

Wind stopped short, staring with mouth still open at the steaming corpse. This wasn't what he'd had in mind. What had happened here?

"Look at him, Wind! What a huge bighorn! And he ran right in front of me! What luck!" Ashsmoke beamed.

"You idiot! Why couldn't you have missed? A point blank shot that you of all people ought to have been able to miss!" Wind spat. "Arrrgh!!!"

"What's wrong, Wind?" Ashsmoke was puzzled as well as concerned. He'd never seen Wind's face turn quite that shade of red before. "Isn't that what we came here for?"

The older elf sighed and his shoulders sagged. "Yes, you're right, we came to get bighorn, and we got bighorn." Wind pulled a scrap of leather from his belt and began to clean his blade, completely deflated.

"Is it too big to ski down the slope with? Is that it?" asked Ashsmoke, guessing at the cause of Wind's outburst with uncanny accuracy. "We could let the wolves feed off it a little, to lighten the load."

"Don't be crazy, Ashsmoke. We can't ski down this mountain carrying that."

"Why not? It's no different than the two of us carrying it on a pole between us. We'll just have wood slats on our feet."

"That's ridiculous-" Wind began, but the urge to ski overwhelmed his common sense. Why not? They could carry it on a pole between them, slowly on foot down the gentle, tree-littered face of the mountain which they had just ascended, or they could do the same quickly and easily down the slope. Wind could do it, he knew he could, if he had a partner who was as good a skier as he was. He cast a glance at Ashsmoke, who had dismounted from Scruff and was retrieving his arrow. He had never noticed Ashsmoke's skiing, but the happy-go-lucky elf must be pretty experienced, to judge by all the nicks and scrapes in his wood slats.

"Well, maybe," Wind granted. Ashsmoke smiled a confident grin, and they got to work preparing the carcass. The two hunters made a pole carrier for it, bound it up, and carried it over to where the slope began. They set it down to strap on their skis, then hoisted it between them again and looked down the steep, treeless mountainside. To Wind, the fresh, unmarked powder looked as inviting as soft bedfurs at the end of a long night.

"I don't know, Wind," said Ashsmoke, suddenly reluctant. "I've never skied down this slope before. It looks awfully steep."

"It's a roll in the furs!" exclaimed Wind heartily. "C'mon, Ashsmoke, this was your idea in the first place. I can lock-send to help you if you want."

Ashsmoke shifted his feet a little. "It's just - aaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Ashsmoke's skis slipped forward, and the weight of the pole on his shoulders popped the remainder of Ashsmoke's body forward over edge of the slope, like a melon seed spit from between someone's teeth. Wind staggered as the load of the carcass shifted on his own shoulders. He barely managed to regain his footing as Ashsmoke's side of the pole sunk into the powder with a thud. When he could look again, Wind saw Ashsmoke at the center of a minor avalanche of powder, tumbling head over woodslats down the slope.

"Use your poles!" called Wind, still struggling somewhat against the bighorn's weight, trying to keep his own footing. "Plant your poles!"

"Whooooooooahh..." came Ashsmoke's reply. Wind winced as Ashsmoke narrowly avoided a rocky outcrop and disappeared behind it. Scruff whined, and Rushdown snorted as if in disgust. When Ashsmoke reappeared around a curve, he had miraculously managed to get up on his skis and had picked up even more speed.

"Wedge! Wedge!" screamed Wind. "Turn uphill!"

A yell came from Ashsmoke that might have been "I can't hear" or "I can't steer". Now the hapless elf was on one ski, his left leg flailing in the air and arms spinning wildly. A glittering cascade of snow sprayed from beneath his right slat as he narrowly avoided another rock.

Wind watched the tiny figure with a sinking feeling. **Can't you stop?** he sent.

**Too steep! Too fast!** Ashsmoke's panic was tangible in the sending. **Meet you at the base...** He was now out of sending range.

Wind stared down the slope for a moment. This latest development finally sank in, and Wind dropped to his knees and pounded the feather-soft snow with his fists. "Ashsmoke! Ashsmoke!!" he roared with rage. "You frostbitten imbecile! I don't believe it!" Not only had Ashsmoke betrayed him by shooting the very game he had promised to hunt for, now the villain was having the time of his life skiing down Wind's favorite slope! And leaving Wind to pack home the carcass!

Wind muttered with fury as he obtained another pole and built a travois. He continued muttering the same words, over and over, as he picked up the handles and started his journey back down the mountain, the same way they had come up. The wolves tagged along behind him, but Wind was no longer angry. His temper could never last for very long, and who wouldn't be cheerful on such a beautiful day, bringing home enough meat to fill half the bellies in the Holt? The words had lost all meaning already, and as Wind continued on his way he sang them out for a travelling song: "Not going to hunt with Ashsmoke ever again, no, never going hunting with Ashsmoke again."