Sleepy Fox Hollow Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist

"Life beats us down," said Takiyok, and Taikon took little heed of it. Old as he was, the years spent away from pack life had given him insular and toxic patterns of thought. It had also, in many ways, sheltered him from the onslaught of social drama. He had only needed a single experience to poison his feelings toward social clans forever.
As the woman spoke, Taikon continued to look out at the water. He used it as a canvas while she told her story, thinking of the waves as rolling snow banks, and of two packs coming together as one. He saw her leaving this large gathering, and his image of her looked strangely forlorn. As she spoke of her illness, her imaginary doppelganger coughed and choked, thinning and circling back to the united wolves. When she stopped speaking, he looked at her, frowning with a mild but very real concern.
Before Taikon could investigate further, she turned it around onto him to seek knowledge on his side of things. Oh, not long, he said, which was true. He furrowed his brow, thinking of what to say that would spare her the cruel details. I came here by chance weeks ago, but I've been on my own for years now. The clarification wounded him, and he felt a nasty shame creep into him. My family disowned me; we did not see eye to eye on things.
An image of Cella flooded him, and he shoved the thought away before it could capture him. Packs are not for me. It was a simple, but very loaded phrase.