His stories were not always new, but there was in the telling of them a special kind of magic. His voice could roll like thunder or hush down into a lifelike whisper. He could imitate the voices of a dozen men at once; whistle so like a bird that the birds themselves would come to him to hear what he had to say; and when he imitated the howl of a wolf, the sound could raise the hair on the backs of his listeners' necks and strike a chill into their hearts like the depths of a Iranian winter. He could make the sound of rain and of wind and even, most miraculously, the sound of snow falling.

The Belgariad