Does the wind have a form when it touches upon a child's cheek in the summer swelter? Does it have an apparent shape when it brushes the dust of weary travel from the vagabond's body? Does it have any sort of recognized expression when it builds into a frenzy, a cluster of wicked flurries until it begins to swirl in rapid concession to become a terrifying whirlwind that threatens to destroy all that comes across it's path? Perhaps not. Perhaps it is merely an intangible creation of fickle intents. But perhaps at times this vast entity may take upon a form for itself. It may well even gather to it a gender and become a goddess. After all, do not most think of the goddesses of the world to be of the more gentle demeanor? In all appearances one may think that such is the case.

On the rare occasion that the flutters of air gather to form an actual body, the details become lost in wisps of her own lack of clarity. That she is a being of clouds and feathers remains a constant however. In most cases where a form is needed for whatever purpose may suit her, she takes upon herself the raiment of some grand cloud being, something akin to both a phoenix and a dragon yet with so many of each that discerning a definite form can be quite difficult. Many have argued over what she appears as, whether it be closer to that of avian or dragon, and yet none have ever decided for certain since with every passing moment the clouds shift and the feathers ruffle and move in ripples down her form. One thing that is always clear is that those clear blue eyes of pupil-less appearance are always there, though whether they are seen soft with gentle amusement or sharp with wicked intent depends on the one who has the (mis)fortune of seeing her. Such is a seldom thing though. No, the air is all around the world, it has no need for physical bindings nor does Arianrhod.