Wind
The wind was fickle, always changing its course, and it could range from a refreshing breeze to a bitterly cold gust. Eurydice knew the wind well, and was more often frustrated than not; it blew hard-earned food away, put out her candles and fires, and rattled so noisily that at times it was impossible to sleep.
To Eurydice the wind was an old acquaintance, one to be respected when met and avoided where possible. On the days when it was too hot to be out safely she thanked the wind for its cool breeze, but knew not to trust it would stay that way.
And yet, something about the wind, for all her knowledge, was strange to her. In between the gusts and howls, Eurydice thought she could hear three voices singing in unison.
The voices were soft, almost unnoticeable at first. But when they grew loud enough that Eurydice could make out words wailing on the wind, she knew it was time to go.