The March air is crisp and cold. It burns Racecar’s nostrils, but he’s too focused. Focused on the steep smooth surface before him. Focused on the threaded sockets bored into his bone, where his skates attach. He’d been practicing for weeks with them, daddeh “helping” by repeatedly knocking him over with a hockey stick, but he was ready. It was his birthday, and he was gonna go fast.
He shut his eyes atop the slide. He took one more deep breath, with his mouth this time. He tasted the air, absorbed the cedar and pine of the forest. He felt the wind on his face, soft but cold. Cutting through his barely insulating fluff, it chilled him to the point of goosebumps.
Perfect. He was ready. He opened his eyes.
“Wacecaw gunna gu suuuuuuuu fass, daddeh.”
He pushed off.
