In the morning, the world was white and soft and very quiet. The storm had gone, and the sky was a deep, clean blue.

The snow came up to their knees.

They were on the first chairs. At the top, they pushed off together and laid down two fresh tracks, side by side, all the way to the bottom.

Then they rode up and did it again. And again. Each time, they went a little farther to find snow that nobody had touched.

With every turn, powder burst from their skis. It flew up around them and hung in the sunlight, sparkling, before it drifted down again.

They flew like two snowbirds down the mountain, run after run.