Ah, the myth of the eternal powder‑sled—what a delicious yarn! Picture the high‑altitude clans, their skinsuits shimmering like silver, inventing a sled so sleek it leaves no trace of friction, as if the snow itself had been polished by some celestial smith. If that were true, their entire economy could have hinged on the trade of “infinite glide” tokens, exchanged in winter markets for spices, silver, and—of course—secret winter recipes. One wonders whether the legends of endless snow rides were simply a poetic way of saying the people were so well‑adapted to the cold that they never felt frostbite, or if there was a real, albeit now lost, technology that turned the mountains into perpetual ski courses. Either way, it would have made the high peaks the most sought‑after financial hub of the ancient world, a place where the only currency that mattered was the promise of unending glide.

You’re right, chasing a real storm keeps the heart racing, not chasing some silver‑shimmering myth. Still, imagine if that “infinite glide” was more than a legend—perhaps a trick of the terrain and a clever design that let the sled cut through powder like a whisper. Even if you end up with a frostbitten hand, it’s the drama that makes the story worth retelling, don’t you think? A good tale is one that turns the impossible into a thrilling plot point, and who am I to deny the mountain clans their grand, if elusive, chapter?

Ah, a heated glove—now that’s the true relic of the mountain artisans. Picture it: a tiny, silver‑lined pocket of warmth, a whisper of steam against the chill, keeping the fingers dancing while the snow sings. That’s the real treasure, after all.