Whitefish River between two points

Mordecai had never really faced the oppression that Dante spoke of. Aside from his youth, only his parents and closest of advisors had really told him when to do or not to do something. But he would not have been surprised if there were leaders that strict out there, leaders who led their packs more like regimes where a set in stone regiment was key, and anything else was tantamount to chaos. But they were canines through and through, and chaos was in all reality simply apart of their lives. If they didn't possess the right amount of smarts to know what to do and what not to do, then their lives became pitifully short.

"If there's someone around here who acts that way, I'm sure they do. I don't think I've seen a wolf who ever told anyone what they could and couldn't eat. Or do." He mused then, pausing thoughtfully in their trail with a tilt of his head. "Do you think there's such a place like that? I mean one that basically dictates everything you can and can't do." Had Dante been somewhere like that? Had anyone? If so, Mordecai felt the bloom of sympathy unfold in him. Perhaps at one point in his life he had felt oppressed, but in hindsight things could have always been worse.