Haunted Wood ships in the night

When the sun dipped below the horizon the darkness grew, deepening the sky to purple and then, eventually, a dimming grey. Despite the dwindling of the light there was no end to the residual heat rising from the soil. Hours of being warmed beneath the summer sun left the earth practically humming with energy. The warmth rose like the spirits of the dead hunting for a vessel, twisting between the trees and catcing in the net of the canopy overhead; above, the stars watched with a glimmering indifference.

The shifting air was all that heralded the stranger's arrival from the south. A humid breeze gusting, undulating like the breath of giants, to tousle at the scruff of the wanderer's coat. He moved carefully - but, with a flamboyance, somewhat poised in the manner of an athelete or perhaps a dancer. As the wind died down so too did the tempo of the wolf's steps. The lull brought a striking lethargy to the creature, their head lowering frorm where it was level with their shoulders, probing the dirt, investigative. As the wolf stopped they raised their head and peered around, maybe having discovered something different in this particular patch of nowhere - but what?