And this year, they came to ski some more, in the heart of the Alps, at the very end of the season.

The days were long and warm. In the mornings, the snow was hard and fast. By lunch, it was watery, like melting sugar and ice.

Wind had only brought his boots on the overseas flight, so he went to the little rental shop in the village.

The man behind the counter had a gray mustache and very careful hands.

“Bonjour,” said Wind. “Excuse me. I don’t have my skis. Do you have anything fast, please?”

He said it all in French, as politely as he possibly could, in the voice he thought made him look cute.

The man looked at the ski team racing gear Wind was wearing.

“I mean race stock,” Wind said politely. “I know rental shops never have race stock skis. But I thought I should ask.”

“Never?” said the man.

“Hardly ever,” said Wind.

“Hm.”