It was something like cycling in traffic, only that this scattered procession making for the rink seemed all one party. The _achtungs_ of those starting on their journey from the top of the slope rising behind her rang out like greetings, and the agonised shrieks coming up from below as one and another neared the gap visible now in the distance as an all-too-swiftly approaching confusion of narrowly avoided disasters, were full of friendly laughter: the fearless laughter of those experienced in collisions. For a moment she was tempted to steer into the snow and wait until the road should be clear. But the sudden sideways swerve of a toboggan just ahead called forth unawares her first _achtung_. It rang, through the moment which somehow manœuvred her clear of the obstacle, most joyously upon the air and hailed her—seeming to be her very life sounding out into the far distances of this paradise, claiming them as long ago it had claimed the far distances surrounding outdoor games—and sent her forward one of the glad fellowship of reckless tobogganners whom now unashamed she could leave to go along her chosen way. Ignoring yells from behind she slowed to pass the gap and its glimpse of the descending track dotted with swiftly gliding humanity, took the sharp bend beyond it and was out of sight careering down the first slope of the valley run with sky and landscape sweeping upwards, mountains gigantically sweeping upwards to the movement of her downward rush. The dreaded bends arrived each too swiftly with its threat of revealing upon the smooth length of the next slope an upward-coming sleigh or village children steering down at large. Slope after slope showed clear and empty, each steeper than the last, and here and there a patch of ice sent her headlong, sent the landscape racing upwards until her heels could find purchase for a steadying dig and bring back the joy of steering forward forever through this moving radiance.