Steam drifted from all five.

Steam drifted along the asphalt; a fine mist sat still above the road.

Steam drifted upwards; the aroma of soup permeated the air.

Steam drifted from the mugs as she finished pouring and bedded the pot in the ash of the disintegrating chips.

Steam drifted from the cup, beckoning her to take a sip.

Steam drifted across its surface, and suddenly I was thinking of that menacing, formless whiteness that had swallowed us.

Steam and dust drifted from the score of vessels.

Steam drifted from apertures in the wall that might be other corridors, or personal cubbies, or merely holes.

Steam drifted from beneath the metal cap and his face became a strictured mask.

Steam drifted over it from behind, its rear obscured by a towered and crenellated wing of the house.