Off-Piste

Freedom is a dizzying gift to a child, a dare to get a little lost, wander from the path, ski off-piste. A little liberty tests a child’s mettle, and the wisdom of their elders.

The rule was stay together. The rule was be back before dark. The rules made sense, with the wisdom they had learnt, and they stuck to them. There was no rule about skiing off-piste. They had never been told to stick to the path. Wolves were for storybooks and faraway. Lost was the route to adventure.

Together, Lilah and Nathan slipped away from the smoothly groomed slope, the pendulant spruce branches closing behind them, the shrieks of passing skiers soaking into the snow clad boughs. The children were alone in the tree studded wild.

Towering evergreens appeared to shrink to friendly Christmas trees as they cut deepening lines into pristine white. Exhilarated and alert, Lilah was still unprepared for the sudden plunge. Chest deep and panicked, her skis swung and flailed, finding no purchase in the void beneath her, as their weight pulled against the tender crust she clung to.

A distant story returned to Nathan then, of quicksand and peril, and he dropped spread eagled across the snow, extending a pole to meet her grasping hands, edging them both back in inching drags to solid ground, where they panted in near miss horror.

Later, they told their parents. “Well done for staying together”, they said, distracted, uncomprehending. Without a word, they swore their oath. Always.