Justice
"If I had to choose, I'm fond of untamed weather. But it's my luck that storms don't bother ghosts." Justice's rough face curled with humor, and he extended an arm in the air.
Misty feathers bloomed over it with a shrill coo, and dry fluttering gave way to bunched, unblinking birds. Not crows, but memory of what might have been those talkative corvids, filtered through a haunting caul. Justice whispered something unearthly to them, and they set off with in a whistling rise, disappearing through the shut windows.