The Sons of the North Wind

Folktales of the Gael from the Western Isles

When, through the gates of Dawn, they came again, they were no longer visible to men nor, in all the long grey reaches of the years, has any since been seen of mortal eyes. Yet how are they known, these sons of the North Wind? They were known of old, they are known still, only by the white feet of one treading the waves of the sea; and by the white rustle and sheen of a myriad tiny plumes as the other unfolds great pinions above hills and valleys, woodlands and garths, and the homes of men; and by the white silence of dream that the third lays upon moving waters, and the windless boughs of trees, upon the silent tarn, upon the bracken by the unfalling hill stream hanging like a scarf among the rock and mountain ash. We know them now only by the radiance of their passing and we call them the Polar Wind, Snow and Ice yet fairer are their ancient names, known since the dawning of the day, of White Feet, White Wings, White Hands.