Blizzian

It hunts on the wing through weather that grounds everything else, using the whiteout it generates to close on prey unseen, then striking out of the storm with talons of ice. It rides the pass's fiercest updrafts for the joy of it as much as the hunt, and a Blizzian at play in a gale climbs and stoops through the snow like a thing made of the storm itself. It nests on the highest, most exposed crags, where its self-summoned flurries keep the eggs buried and hidden, and its keening cry, threading through the wind, is often the only sign that the blizzard has a sovereign riding somewhere inside it.