A whistling wind howled throughout the Winterwoods like a siren's wail. The wind swirled around Li, attending to him like a servant, carrying away his clothing of human flesh and bone and blood, baring forth a divinity of life and death. It was a metamorphosis of both morbidity and beauty, the life of limbs carved from bark and leaf stretching out from the deadened scraps of mortal human remains.
Was it right for him to use this form? This true form of his?
Li knew that though it represented the strongest pulses of life, it also echoed the cruelest whispers of death. Unlike Morrigan who appeared to be a guardian that nourished and loved, his form was one of neutrality, of life and death both wrapped together.
