There was once a little cloud spirit. He was not a God, not even anything close. Far from it.

He was lost in the vast skies, spirits of winds and thunderstorms constantly chasing him. The little spirit wished at every dawn for the Moon, the Sun and the Stars that it might descend to the world below, where it would no longer be persecuted. The lights in the heavens would surely take pity on him, right? If they were able to light up the vast space, they could bring him down.

Even though a part of him muttered 'Why would they call you?' the little spirit still wanted to descend.

As time passed, nothing happened, but the spirit learned to see the world below, and this made it even more eager to descend. He had learned from the winds that there were thousands of beings in the world below, that that world sang a constant symphony, – different from the silence of the skies – and that there were thousands of different colors from the blues of the sky.

He wanted to get down, he wanted the moon to hear him.

She didn't hear him, and eventually he got tired of waiting.

He descended, not bothering to disappear if he had a whisper of things below.

But clouds were not made to touch the world. Heaven, taking pity on the spirit, sheltered its soul in that of a fox.

And that's where our story begins.