Fox's Glade midnight, somewhere

there's a soft, familiar sound on the breeze; the ghost does not hesitate to drift along the wind with it, floating under the overcast sky empty and light as a hollowed cocoon. this time through a forest, beautiful and void of a single (wolf) soul, though the scent of a nearby pack is not lost on him. he can hear the rustling of fauna, the occasional keening call; otherwise, only the song and the sound of his own breath accompany him.
he pauses after a time, lifting his muzzle to watch the slowly-darkening sky through the trees. it's beautiful. watching the sun disappear, a heavy burden seems to lift from his chest; all at once he realizes the sun cannot be trusted. the sun dulls the song, his senses, brightens the world into something he can't quite make sense of. he closes his eyes, feeling closer to something he cannot name as night descends. he can almost picture it, though. silver, he thinks, silver and blue, and more beautiful than all the stars in the sky.