The silence was intense, the mists curling around her as she danced, and drifting after her like an extra garment, grey and white slowly deepening into gold and purple and orange—all the colors of the sunset. Kunabei felt her spirit soar, and wondered what it would be like to fly high and free, like a wraith.

She shook her head. How could the wraiths be so angry at the physical world, when they could fly higher than anyone else—human, goat, or bird—could hope to safely go?

The silence was broken by a loud crack, and then the tumbling of rocks. Quickly, Kunabei reached for the primary ball-whistles tucked into her belt, carefully slipping two fingers on each hand through the soft leather handles and twisting to allow the long strap to move freely outside the fists that held the handles tight. Automatically, with skills born of years of practice, she kept the straps untangled, and sent the heavy metal balls whirling around her head and body.

Once she was safely surrounded by the sound of the whistles, she looked around. Where was the wraith? She wouldn’t see it, of course—no one could see wraiths. But she had been trained to watch for the effects of wraiths on the physical things of the world.

She held back her urge to run and check on the goats. The crack she’d heard had come from her north, but it was low—almost as low as where she stood.

There—she spotted the sharp bright line of unweathered stone. It was close—too close. Just one hill over. Worse, there was a gap in the mist, coming toward her. Her heart raced as she spun the whistles faster, their shriek rising in pitch, keeping them carefully between her and the wraith. She had to be very careful—hitting herself right now, or tangling the straps, or doing anything else that could slow their spin would probably mean her death.