By the third morning, Jedson was already bragging—very softly, very humbly—about how he had only fallen seventeen times yesterday instead of... too many to mention the first day.
Raylene found this adorable.
They returned to the gentle slopes first, letting his confidence warm up with the morning sun. Jedson improved slowly but noticeably: fewer chaotic flails, fewer dramatic explosions of snow, and far more balanced glides.But still… sometimes he would fall in the most unnecessary ways.
Like when he was already standing still.
"Why," Ray asked through laughter as she helped pull him upright again, "do you fall when nothing is even happening?"
"I don't choose the falling life," Jedson grumbled. "It chooses me."
She laughed so hard she lost her balance and fell too, dragging him right back down with her.They lay there in a heap of limbs and skis, laughing like children in the snow.
It mirrored the meaning of their trip without either of them having to say it:Yesterday he fell and she caught him.Today they fell together — on purpose, for fun.
---
When Jedson seemed warmed up and steady, Raylene nudged him with her ski pole.
"Okay. I think you're ready."
He stared at her, suspicious. "Ready for what?"
She pointed to the backside of the mountain where a long, winding trail began — one that started with a small ski-bridge over a flat area, and then dipped into a forest.
"Oh no," Jed said.
"Oh yes," Ray replied.
The first challenge wasn't even a hill — it was flat ground, and they needed speed to cross it. Otherwise they had to… well… walk.
They ended up walking.
Several skiers glided past effortlessly while Jed and Ray plodded behind like two weary travelers crossing a snowy desert.
Ray sighed dramatically."This is going to take a while."
"Do we get a medal when we reach the other side?" he asked.
"Yes. The medal is called 'We Finally Made It.'"
But eventually, wonderfully, the ground sloped downward and they found themselves gliding into the "magic forest."
---
The trail curved between snow-covered pines, colorful wooden goblins placed along the way for children. Some looked mischievous, others scared, one appeared to be mid-sneeze for reasons unknown.
Raylene adored it.
At one turn, a tiny outhouse stood crookedly beside the trail. As they passed, a kid opened the door—
Inside was a goblin figurine on the toilet, eyes bulging, mouth open mid-complaint:
"CAN A GOBLIN GET SOME PRIVACY?!"
Jedson choked on a laugh so suddenly he nearly fell again.Raylene grabbed his arm, wheezing.
They did not mean to look.But they absolutely did.
The magical forest was easy and comforting, and when the trees opened they found themselves on a long blue slope. A bit intimidating, but steady and doable at their slow pace. They made it down without trouble, and Ray congratulated him with a proud little pat on his shoulder.
Jedson straightened up like he had just won an award.
---
At the bottom of the blue slope, two signs pointed in different directions:
GREEN – Slow, safe hill leading back to the lift.RED – The long slope all the way down the mountain.
Jed eyed the red one.
"I think I can do it."
Ray squinted at him. "I'm not sure you can do it."
"This is hurtful," he said, but he was grinning.
She knew he'd tease her back—but she also knew she wasn't exactly a daredevil skier herself. He noticed her hesitation as she eyed the slope, so he nudged her gently, no pressure behind it.
"We'll go slow. Together."
They practiced on the green run a few more times. Jed grew steadier. Ray grew more confident too. Their slow pace, their shared rhythm, made everything feel safe.
And finally… they stood at the top of the red hill.The slope was steeper than anything they'd done yet.The kind of hill that made your stomach drop a little.
Ray swallowed. "Okay. Slow. Really slow."
"Crawling pace," Jed agreed.
And with that, they went.
---
The world opened beneath them, white and wide.Every turn demanded focus.Every shift of balance mattered.
But they stayed beside each other the whole time — matching speed, checking in with soft glances, leaning forward in mirrored determination.
Halfway down, Jed whispered:
"…I'm doing it."
"You are!" Ray whispered back.
Near the bottom, her legs started shaking with effort. His legs were burning too. But they didn't rush.Slow. Steady. Together.
And then—Their skis glided over the final slope.The ground leveled.
They had made it.
---
Raylene turned toward him with eyes bright from adrenaline and pride.
Jedson reached for her, but hugging on skis wasn't exactly graceful. They bumped, slipped, wobbled, and nearly fell again.
But they were laughing and clinging to each other and neither cared.
"We survived," he said breathlessly.
"We conquered it," she corrected.
"Same thing."
They took the lift back up, skied a few more easy runs, and by late afternoon they were exhausted in the best possible way. Their legs were sore, their cheeks cold, their hearts warm.
They ended the day hand in hand, stepping out of their skis, proud of every fall and every triumph.
Because the truth was becoming beautifully clear:
Jedson wasn't just getting better at skiing.He was getting better at falling —and at letting her fall with him.