At the age of sixteen, Raven's physical condition was superior to that of most girls her age, and her reactions were as fast as ever. She was just under six feet tall; the best skier on the mountain. She wore a light shirt to protect her sensitive skin from the sun, her long blonde hair whipped uncontrollably in the afternoon breeze. Massive but proportional to the body, her muscles stood out sharply defined by the snowy light. She was an expert. She was the best.

As we carved down the crusty slopes together, I knew people would take heed and hug the tree line to avoid any confrontation. We were feared and revered. Aerials and "fat" turns were our specialties and as the day progressed, our skills improved. One time Raven danced between a family of five and did it with such hedonism that it was obvious no one could match her ability. She laid down tracks anywhere she wanted. She loved the feeling of living on the edge. Always trying to reach the zenith of her appeasement off the biggest jumps. Yeah, she loved to ski. 1