Novel & Cerita Wind Breathing

Buran asked. What an odd question. "I have never been in one but I have been around one if that makes sense." I replied. "It makes perfect sense. That is what we are going to try first. It is the easiest I think." Buran said. He stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with me and I felt the air around me shift. "Think of yourself as a feather, very light weighted, easy to move. Picture the wind bending to move the way you want it to." Buran whispered. I rolled my shoulders a few times, getting myself to relax a bit more. I tried to picture what the wind would look like and I was unsuccessful. I could feel a small breeze against my skin before it went away. "Take your time. Don't push too hard." Bu

My wolf draws in a steadying breath, bracing for the stench of fear. The air is clear. Almost brisk.

Didn’t want to break the spell. Instead, she closed her eyes and let the wind scream past her ears, tangling in her hair like invisible claws. She tilted her head back slightly, feeling the wind bite her cheeks, the cold sharp and exhilarating. The distant sound of his breathing reached her—deep, steady, vibrating through the massive body beneath her like the purr of a mountain. She spoke softly into the rush of air. “I thought I would hate this.” His only response was a low chuff, a warm gust of air rippling past her from his massive nostrils.

What? "You’re forcing it." He explained. She quickly replied him saying — "Yea cos I can’t breathe!—" but he shushed her. "For a patient who needs my help, you sure are a chatter box." He ignored the heavy stare she gave him and continued in a gentle tone, "The more you force a deep breath, the worse it gets." Christopher slowly demonstrated. "Try what I'm doing," He inhaled gently through his nose. Not a huge breath, rather just a normal one. Then he exhaled slowly.

I begin to choke and through the mist, I hear the voice of our companion. “Close your eyes,” Gregory suggests when he sees me struggling for air. “Forget that we are in fog and imagine you are breathing clean, crisp air. It will help, trust me.” I close my eyes like he instructed, imagining a sunny day with a clear, cool breeze. Sitting still, my breathing slowly eases and I can almost feel the breeze against my skin. The sensation is so different that I begin to wonder why I had found it so hard to breathe just a moment before. Was it just my panic making it worse? Sighing, I fill my lungs with fresh, clear, somewhat briny, air.

But I couldn't be in a dome because the wind blew loudly, creating strange sounds as it cut through the stalagmite trees. The air was terrible, nothing like what I considered air in my world. It was thicker, like dry vapor, and was thick because it was filled with small particles of grit or sand. I shielded my nose and mouth with the crook of my arm, wondering how breathing in this crap might affect my baby. I took a few moments to rip off the lower part of my dress to create a scarf that I wrapped around my nose and mouth until I could breathe more easily. I stood on what looked like fine sand or thick dust and wished I was wearing more than soft walkers on my feet. The sand blew over them,

Healing. The wind moved through the field, brushing the flowers, soft and kind. And for the first time in a while, I felt like I could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, I was going to be okay

"I can't do it." "Sammy, you can do this. Just try." Wren says. I close my eyes again and call the wind. It starts to blow and twirl around me. "Good, Sammy. Keep going." Wren encourages. I open my eyes and look around at the swirls of my hair. I laugh at the tickle of the wind on my skin. I reach out my hands and the wind dances around my arms and body. "Ok. Send the wind away." Wren says.

My voice sounds hoarse and breathy and my throat burns, feeling constrained as if I ate something that went down the wrong pipe. Seeing me struggle for breath, he shouts... "Are you crazy!? What the fuck are you talking about? Look at the way you're breathing!" "No, I'm not– crazy," I reply, trying to make him see reason. He's right about the way I'm breathing though but how do I make him understand that I'm gasping for air, not because I'm dying but because of my burning throat? "Relax man! I can't— talk through the mask..." I wheeze.

when it's comes the winter wind, each snowman's unseen scarf, to stir the snow, to wake the trees in a percussion of chattering. I recall being winded as a child, that feeling of needing to draw in breath, those extended moments when my lungs were pulling for all their worth to draw in air. They did, of course, in due course begin to breathe once more. I still climbed trees though, still went way too high on the swings, still made leaps I wasn't quite sure I could land well... Some are born that way I suppose, to seek new ways to fly even after experiencing such pains. I took deep breath to feel relaxed which was a greatest pleasure for me. I was watching it peacefully and suddenly I heard f