Smokeform, from the Listener Song of Secrets reads - in part - as follows:
Smokeform for hiding and slipping 'tween men. A form of power-like Surges of spren. Do we dare to wear this form again? It spies. Crafted of gods, this form we fear. By Unmade touch its curse to bear, Formed from shadow - and death is near. It lies.
Smokeform, from the Listener Song of Histories reads - in part - as follows:
Smokeform for hiding and slipping between men. A form of power, like human Surges. Bring it ’round again. Though crafted of gods, It was by Unmade hand. Leaves its force to be but one of foe or friend.