Sketch

The cold nip of the wind nibbled on his cheek like a rat in Cheeto factory. The white of the snow burned his eyes, leaving a greenish blur in the center of his eye that came whenever he blinked. He could see the homely lodge in the distance, with a thin white trail of smoke drifting form the chimney. It called him, promising hot soup and chocolate. He accelerated down the slope going faster and faster, the wind felt like a sander on his cheeks, but he ignored it. Instead, he focused on the thrill of the speed, and the joy of making his skis obey his every command. He reached the bottom with burning, numb cheeks, and the rush of a lifetime. The lift beckoned, but he ignored it. The hot chocolate was louder.