The Wind of Lonely Places

Table of Contents

•	Chapter 1	•	Chapter 8
•	Chapter 2	•	Chapter 9
•	Chapter 3	•	Chapter 10
•	Chapter 4	•	Chapter 11
•	Chapter 5	•	Chapter 12
•	Chapter 6	•	Chapter 13
•	Chapter 7

The Wind of Lonely Places

1.

Blair absently swept a wisp of his grey-streaked black hair away from
his eyes, surveying the prospect that fell away beneath his feet: 
evergreen-flecked snowfields flaring in the noon-day sun.  The chair 
vibrated briefly as its hanger crossed the guide-wheels mounted on the 
lift tower.
	"...but as they say, 'no guts, no glory', eh?" said the blond kid 
seated next to him with a nudge and a wink.  He wore a yellow and 
black ski outfit cut to the latest fashion, a glittering array of resort 
pins ranked across his chest like military honors.  Dressed in old jeans
and a faded red jacket, Blair seemed by comparison a sad, wistful ghost.
	"Doubtless," he murmured, gazing pensively across the lands 
spread out below Tesuque Peak.  Since the two had boarded the ski 
lift, Blair's efforts to follow his companion's conversation had been 
perfunctory.  He had already forgotten his name.
	Oblivious of Blair's inattention, he chattered blithely on of his 
exploits at one or another prestigious ski resort, at such length that his 
first comment actually requiring a response from Blair nearly slipped by 
unnoticed.
	"I don't guess this place's got any really awesome runs,"  the kid 
said, skeptically.  The past five minutes of bragging were apparently 
meant to justify his use of that tone.  It wouldn't have been "smooth" to 
have simply asked for this local hick's guidance, after all.
	Blair shrugged disinterestedly, but said, "Been over the Blood 
Rock?"
	"Uh-uh.  Don't remember seeing that name on the trail map, 
though."
	"It's not on the map.  It's an out-of-bounds area.  That bother 
you?"
	"Why's it called the Blood Rock?" he said, ducking Blair's jibe.  
"Someone crash 'n burn there?"
	"Plenty of guys, but that's not how it got its name.  There's a 
tricky jump down near the end over a hunk of stone covered with a lot 
of shiny red flakes.  The run's named for the stone."
	"Sounds OK. Where is it?"
	"Um.  It's pretty wild."  Blair turned a doubtful look on the kid.  
"You think you can handle it?"
	"Crap.  I can ski anything this rinky-dink little mountain's got."
	"Follow me, then," said Blair, as they neared the summit.  He 
coasted down the unloading ramp, and skated down the relatively level 
"catwalk" that gave access to the ski runs.  The kid caught up and 
passed him, to show he could, then fell back a little behind and right of 
Blair.
	The runs fell away from the catwalk to the left of the two skiers, 
marked with signs labeled with fanciful names, like by-ways out of 
legend.  Each was blazoned with a black diamond, indicating expert-
level difficulty.  Blair pulled up short at a place where no marked trails 
divided the evergreen forest; the kid skidded to a halt beside him.  A 
rope strung from trunk to trunk barred access to the slopes, hung with 
signs indicating that beyond lay a dangerous area, where skiing was 
prohibited.  Despite the warning, a half-dozen ski tracks could be seen 
leaving the catwalk, passing beneath the barrier rope and into the trees.
	"That it?  Looks pretty tame from here," the kid scoffed.
	"It get's harder," Blair said softly, staring into the trees.
	"So let's..."  The kid's comment was cut off as another skier 
carved a sharp, hissing turn around them and dropped over the edge, 
ducking the rope with a smooth motion.  She wore a form-fitting ski-suit 
that hugged the contours of her slender body.  The two caught a glimpse 
of a pretty, tanned face beneath a fall of auburn hair, and then she was 
gone.  The kid gaped, then a wide grin split his face as he hastened over 
the edge in pursuit.  Blair watched impassively as the kid was swallowed 
by the trees, then turned and continued along the catwalk toward the 
next marked run.