Through the moor she whistles, her presence a crystal shard, slicing through the night air scented with damp earth and pine. Windows tremble, trees yield, cries ripple across the barren plains.

Her voice, an echo of distant storms, resonates from the ocean's depths, a spectral cry that chills the bones. She strides under the moon’s watchful eye, her shadow entwining with the silver glow, extinguishing campfires, uprooting trees.

I feel her power, standing in the open field, the wind tearing at my clothes, her icy touch a shiver down my spine. She is not just a force of nature, but a harbinger of change, a messenger from realms unseen, bringing both fear and awe.

A gust summoned by her breath, an unbound, restless spirit, never tethered, always moving, stirring the air like scattered leaves, disrupting the stillness, a force both feared and revered.