A relentless sun beats down on the open steppe, where heat shimmers rise like ghosts from the parched earth. The Grass Wind layer ripples across the dry grasslands, while Tree Wind 2-a sways the sparse acacia branches overhead, their leaves clapping in a rhythm as old as the hills. In the distance, bamboo-grove-Wind Birds-b carries the faint call of larks riding the thermal currents, a whisper of life in the vastness. This is the sound of stillness at high noon, when even the wind moves like a s