A young foggy soul

You approach this soul, it still carries the lingering smell of it's mother's milk. You observe the soul, it's dark coat looks translucent at the right angle. "Present yourself" you speak allowed, a small breeze igniting around you. "Nothing" the soul squeaks, it seems it was never named. You feel pity for the small thing, you present yourself to it waiting for something to happen. The small soul ambles forward, nuzzling up to your paw. You let the spectre find some warmth in you, holding it close.