Sleepy Fox Hollow Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist

The ivory she-wolf was pensive, seeming to stray in thought from what he had asked her. Taikon did not take it personally, only wondering what she was so bothered by. Even now, she seemed not right in some way. Perhaps this was just how she was: quiet, without fight, avoidant. How refereshing, he thought, would it be to feel that way all the time? He was, like most perhaps, tired of feeling bad all the time; he was tired of feeling anything.
His gaze shot to her, curious. She had lived here, once. She was a pack animal, suckered into the falsehood of security that was fascism. He listened. Distraction. He beamed.
I was a bit more of a distraction in my younger years, he chuckled, though he was hardly elderly. He believed he had wisdom and experience beyond his years. This was objectively untrue. But tell me, when did your pack move from this place? Taikon wondered. He had purposefully asked when and not why out of respect. Not everyone wished to talk of painful memories; she had only brought up her familiarity with the area, after all.