You are free and shadowless always, rolling, surging, lingering as you will. The Preacher was troubled by your circles, revolving round and around from Darom and about to Arphon. The thief tried to steal your power, use it for him and his projects; to turn and spin and do his work. You play along for a while; let him think him master and you the slave, until... Enough! Disabuse him of your servitude. Howl and moan, creaking all things til fever pitch signals destruction - his pride, his schemes. Break and break free again to blow where you will.