“Well,” said Wind. “There was a crevasse.”

“A crevasse.” The mustache lifted a little. “How interesting.”

“I jumped it.”

“On these?”

Wind nodded.

“And you landed it?”

Wind nodded again.

“Alors.” The man leaned on the counter. “And how did this particular young man come to be exploring a crevasse?”

“I followed some tracks,” said Wind. “Three of them. They jumped it too.”

“And they landed it better?”

Wind nodded. “Much better.”

“Ah. Tracks.” The man nodded slowly, as if that explained everything. “Everybody follows somebody’s tracks once.”

He set the skis gently on the rack.

“Most people are not so good at jumping.”

Wind didn’t know what to say to that.

“Next winter, maybe I find you a pair of good powder skis,” said the man. “And you give me no more crevasses. D’accord?”

“D’accord,” said Wind.

“Your skis will be ready by nine tomorrow,” the man added. “Or what is left of them. Do not expect them to be new.”

He walked home through the blue evening snow. He felt sheepish. He also felt very, very lucky.