Many of these spirits are much reduced from their mortal estate. They are little more than sparks of light that flit between the trees, around and behind the tall, straight trunks of black pines with snow-laden boughs. During the winter nights, which are quite long this far north, these spirits flicker and dance, tiny motes alive one moment, gone the next, leaving only the evaporated shadows of their passing to draw travelers further into the wood, away from the safety of the path, eager for just another glimpse of these irresistible lights.
Beneath the mounds of snow, away from the trails, one sometimes finds travelers' frozen bones, curled in slumber. The empty hollows of their eyes are filled, when one starts to glance away, with a strange, half-imagined glow.
Beneath the mounds of snow, away from the trails, one sometimes finds travelers' frozen bones, curled in slumber. The empty hollows of their eyes are filled, when one starts to glance away, with a strange, half-imagined glow.
—Lost Cities, "Fabled Cities: The Ice and What It Holds"
There were other lights in the distance. They looked like fireflies, sometimes, but others were so much like lanterns or spell-light that she'd had to resist the urge to call out or follow them. She had a guess as to what they were: Will o’ the Wisps. Little fey creatures that took a nasty joy from misleading travelers, tricking them into jumping into choking bogs or gator-infested marshes. She’d never actually seen one, and given the circumstances, she didn’t want to. So she ignored them as best she could, and hoped they’d return the favor.
—Nine Days Down, Chapter 13: "Warden"
"Will-o-wisps," Strato said. "Some sort o' spirit or monster, or maybe a ghost. They appear as glowing lights at night, and if you see 'em out over the moorland you might think to yourself, 'Why, those lights look interesting, I shall go investigate them,' and as you walk off the path and grow closer and closer to 'em, they start to bob and weave as if they're excited you've come to join 'em, and it's not until you've walked a ways that you notice they don't seem to be growing much closer. But by that point you're well off the path and your hooves are muddy and your coat is wet with dew, and just when you think of turning around to head back to your camp or home or whatever the wisps start to bounce with an excited energy, as if you're on the precipice of some great discovery, and you decide t' trek out a few steps more, and more, and more, and always more, until you realize you've quite forgotten how many steps its been or which way the path was or even why you're walking in the moors at night by yourself in the first place, and if you're lucky that's enough to shock you to your senses and you realize the wisps are nothing like lights at all, but rather little fluttering things with wings and eyes and teeth, and you're able to make your escape. But if you're one of the unlucky ones, the unfortunate few who are easily charmed by bobbing, shining things, you never come to that realization, and the next day or a few days later your family finds your cold corpse leaning against a log, missing most of its meat. So yes, brother, you're correct; they don't sound dangerous. But don't make the mistake of assuming they aren't."
—The World is Filled with Monsters, "Act II: Winter in Hazelnight, part 3"
