High in the mountains of Tor on one of the few plateaus on a mountain the seems to climb ceaselessly is a windy plain with a constant stream of air rushing over, and after eons of time it has worn a scar in the big hill flat.
On that windswept break in Tor's crag there flows a stream unlike any other found upon the Auld. A traveler, brave and strong making it that far up the toes of Tor may find itself caught helplessly in the flow of the Whispy Brook if they should mistake the air there for watér in attempt to get a drink.
What appears to be a babbling brook is comprised of a pressured air funnel sweeping the fog of Tor over the cavernous recess in the rocks of the plain. Because of the constant windforce it can be difficult to discern, but actually the brook produces no sound but the harsher whisper of wind as the clue that something is not what it seems.
Those unfortunate to think to dive in and ford the stream of air, not water, will find themselves battered and bruised hanging to the edge of some protrusion yet to be worn down by the ceaseless current--if they're lucky, and not blown straight off the face of Tor.
The serene quality of the name does not befit the danger present, as if the mortals improved on an already tricky joke made by the gods.