A Wind-Ghost has no body to describe. It shows in what it moves: grass flattening in a ring where the gale should be flattening it in rows, dust that turns against the wind, a ripple in the air like heat over stone. Close to, it is a pressure on the skin, a cold or a strange warmth, and a fullness in the ears beyond the Gale’s usual ache. It makes no sound, like everything in the Gale, and a traveller knows it is there only by touch and by the sudden stillness of the Mute-Walkers.

They live in the moving air of the Gale and come and go with it. A strong Gale holds several.

They hunt by feeling. A heartbeat, a footfall, a body’s warmth in the cold blast draw them, and the more a traveller moves, the faster they come. They close in silently, and what they do then depends on their sort: some press, some batter, some throw. They are hungry rather than cruel, and stillness is the best hiding there is.

They move with and against the wind as they please, invisible and silent, and sense living bodies through the air’s trembling. Between them, the Wind-Ghosts can bruise, suffocate, or strike from afar.

Nothing is known of their life cycle. Some believe each is a gust that came into the Gale too strong to leave it.

They give nothing to the peoples and take whatever moves. Visitors who live are the ones who lay flat and waited.

People of the plains say a Wind-Ghost is the ghost of someone who died in a storm, looking for their lost voice, and some carry a bell into high passes for the dead to hear. In the Gale, the bell makes no sound.

Caravans that crossed the high passes in a soundless storm tell of guards cut down in the line with no sound and no one seen, and of the caravan-master who tied every rider to the next and lost none.