Sleepy Fox Hollow Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist

As the white she-wolf shifted her glance away from him, he stepped a pace closer to her, concerned. Her crude smile gave him no reassurance as to her well-being. However, he was a stranger, like every animal he had met thus far in these parts, and strangers had no bearing on pack wolves. They of course had wonderful families and extended families to care for them and listen to their woes, to feed and guide them, to love them.
...with conditions.
As the she-wolf answered, he listened intently, but she didn't make any sense. To him, you either were or were not okay. To be "not okay" meant you wished for help. Then she asked an even more curious question back at him. Why was he asking?
He stook there idiotically for a moment, looking around him as though passing bat or owl would have an answer to her. When nothing answered, he forced some words after an uncomfortable silence. I don't know, he admitted. He could have told her she looked unwell, but that was just him extrapolating. I'm not really okay, he offered, a glimpse into his vulnerability. Had she been male, such words would never have left his maw.