Timy pressed his nose against the bedroom window, tracing the white peaks that rim the sky. "I want to climb those," he whispered.
His parents exchanged a look over breakfast. Then Mom smiled. "Pack your boots, Timy. Today we climb."
The winding trail climbed higher and higher. Timy held Dad's hand and followed Mom's map. "Almost there," she called.
Halfway up, a loose stone skittered beneath his boot. Timy froze on the narrow path. His breath caught. "I can do it," he said.
He took one careful step, then another. Mom held out her hand and pulled him onto the flat ledge. "There you go," she said.
A sudden gust whipped the red hat right off his head. It tumbled down into the pines. Timy reached too far—and his sneaker slipped on ice.
Dad caught his backpack strap just in time. Timy's lips wobbled, then he laughed. A chubby marmot popped up on a boulder and stared at his empty head.
Timy reached the summit and dropped his backpack with a thud. The world opened up in every direction. "We made it," he said.