The howling wind spirit of the Ashlarr mountains is a haunting thing, to those new to its song. It’s melancholic voice echoes around the high stones and through windy valleys as it gallops back and forth, back and forth, never content to rest.
Some think it searches for its source, that somehow it’s home has been moved or concealed or altered so greatly that the spirit runs lost. The work of the dwarves, the mining of men, the raw, honest shaking of the earth or the sharp winter ice, could all have moved or broken something.
The spirit fades from the eye in sunlight, but many guess it is still in this world, galloping and leaping and howling.