Sleepy Fox Hollow Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist

Once again, he travelled at night. In the depths of the Hollow, the lone wolf moved through thickets and woods. Having found his path through the mountains, what drove Taikon was to see what lay beyond these grand peaks. Along the way, he had detected several packs of wolves along in path, and he had done his very best to ignore them all.
Taikon had been on his own for over two years. This was, for his kind, a strange thing to desire. The wounds of his past went with him everywhere. Memories poisoned his waking thoughts as much as they did his nightmares. No matter how far he went, he could never seem to escape its terrible grasp. Always, there was a part of him that missed the comfort and security in knowing that things were going to be okay. This was always defeated by the hefty and dispicable reminder that packs meant fascists.
In the low light of the waning moon, the white predator loped toward what he hoped was a destination to the west. He began following the outline of a lake, encouraged by its shimmering surface. The water made him recall the way Cella had looked against such thin moonlight, and he smiled almost imperceptibly. And it was in the middle of this thought that the scent, and visage of a she-wolf broke his mental anguish.
Taikon stopped in mid-step, faltering a moment before standing tall a couple of metres from her. One of his ears turned sideways, listening for any others. He heard nothing. Sniffing at her, Taikon breathed a sigh, as though she had done something to him that greatly annoyed him. The sound a coupled creature might make when confronted by a nag.
Good evening, miss, he said, bowing his head. Tradition, for him, spoke before feelings. Are you okay? He asked this seriously, noticing a general lacklustre appearance to her tall, impressive form.