After a few meters, which appeared to him like one day's march, he turned. They had not gone into the warm house, but marched on a frozen way, which led up the mountain. Mario felt ignored. "Mum, we wanted to go in there, eat apple-wobble!" His expression had twisted into a furious mask, hidden behind scarf and sun glasses, where nobody could see.
"You will become your apple-wobble. But first we go walking a little while." The answer was final. Mario followed his mother, his mother followed Tom. And Tom followed its nose, which showed toward mountain.
It became ever more slippery. The wind drove them tiny, stinging ice crystals in the face. The way led into the nothing. It was a slope, they creped now along. A slope, whose snow cover had transformed into an ice cover. Their steps became ever more uncertain, Tom�s tendency improved. He loved the danger, the abyss under its feet. But Mario�s mother made a line for it by the calculation. "Until here and not further!" Their voice cut through cold air like a sharp blade. Surprised Tom looked back: "Why?"
He did not seem to see really, where he had led the two. Few meters left beside them the slope stopped simply and invited to a slide portion into death. Upward they could not go, because their shoes refused the stop with each step. They put firmly.
Wordless, but with a view, which spoke volumes, turned Tom and rises with his spikes the way back he noticed not that his companions had problems. Adrenalin hunted through Mario�s blood. Finally he could experience something, before which he had only read so far: Mortal danger! He was far to have fear. For him it was the most fascinating play, which he had ever experienced. Without change his mine, he struck the shoes in the ice and tried to forge ahead in Toms direction.
He ignored the desperate and in the reason senseless pieces of advice of his mother, who had more fear about Mario, than for herself. She did not advance also better, than her son.
Mario saw downward again and again. Short, before the slope stopped, small coniferous trees stood briefly isolate. He forged emergency plans in thoughts, as he could hold on there, if he slipped.
Stoic he struck with his boots new holes in the ice proofed if they were stable and lifted himself a further step up to the safe soil.
But sudden his right foot found no more firm soil. As in slow motion Mario lost control. The slope was steep and slippery. The frightened calls of his mother followed him. When he had slipped some meters far, he could brake a little bit. Again he struck the boot points in the ice, clawed himself with the switches gloves firmly, where he could. Laboriously he worked himself again upward. Finally he seized gratefully the point of the moving stick, which had emerged unexpectedly. Tom felt apparently nevertheless responsible.
The slope appeared endless, a half hour the erred needed, to come out of danger. Now Mario�s mother spoke with Tom. She didn�t talk any longer so friendly, as before. She poured him with reproaches.
When Mario felt cold weather again, he interrupted the grumbling and required persistent a warm, no, even a hot apple-wobble. He got that then also.
In the cosy hotel, which they wanted from begin on to visit. But for unexplainable reasons the adults had suddenly no more appetite.
