Ankyra Sound hūrenkon

The ghost drifted around the trees at a leisurely pace. He navigated the circumfrence of one, then two, then three of the massive old things before he took notice of the shadow.
She was his antithesis; there is a nervous energy hanging about her that he detects on a glance, and then he stops his gradual drift. He is the mist clinging to the trees, slipping in and out of the greyness as he approaches the wayward girl.
Has she been injured? There are wounds upon her skin - no, he thinks, just superficial. Patches of her shadow-self have crumbled away. Is that was has her so startled? There is barely any change in his demeanor as the specter closes the distance. He has no fear of her, or of this place.
The sunlight catches across his snout finally, and proves he is alive when his eyes alight with fire; but he winces back from the glare of it, ducks in to the gray, and sits waiting for her to make first contact. Whatever sort of situation he has found himself within, the ghost puts the power in to the girl's hands - for he knows how he has been received in the past, and will not put himself at risk again.