Silvertip Mountain but what's inside you?

was it that this place just had a lot of realists living in it? or was it that usually realists were the ones who survived into adulthood? everyone he'd met so far had been the living and breathing equivalent of a swiss-army knife. where did all the young dreams go?
in the end, the onus fell onto his shoulders to guide this hulking conversation where he saw fit. he furrows his brows in the dark. that's ok. the past is the past. i don't even know what the hell that means.
thinking of joining a pack, then? he directs the topic into the future. the smell of bats grows stronger. he coughs, feels a pang in his head. please don't let this be a headache.