"Ben ... religion ... prophets ... what?" The wolf-creature shakes his head briefly, trying to clear away the strange thoughts.
"Stories of the darkwolves ... hmmm. Okay, see, the darkwolves live in a valley -- well, maybe it's more of an island. Except, it's surrounded by, like, shadow instead of water. But it isn't really shadow -- it's more kind of like ... nothing. I mean, you could fall off the edge if you were stupid or something, but you wouldn't fall into anything, you know? You'd just fall.
"And it's darker over there. Everything is a lot brighter on this side. Over there it's all black -- black trees, black rocks, black rivers. Except once in a while, there's red. On leaves and flowers sometimes. And on us darkwolves."
He stops and rubs his muzzle with a forepaw. "Ugh, this is never easy to explain. The last time I tried was a couple months back when the boss brought me to this sage guy. He rubbed his beard a lot and kept saying, 'Oh, hmm, interesting' and then he told her that she'd subconsciously shaped a part of the Realm of Shadow and imagined the darkwolves into existence.
"And then I said, 'Oh, really? So if she created us, how come I remember being a cub?' and he said, 'Obviously, she imagined you with a full set of memories, so that from your perspective, it was as if the darkwolves had always existed and you had had a childhood,' and I said, 'Yeah, but how could she have created my memories when I remember being a cub?'" He snorts derisively. "What a moron. Anyway, then he said, 'That'll be 20 gold pieces for the consultation,' and then I said, 'Hold on, because I think I'm about to imagine biting you on the--'"
"Boots." The voice is low and the painted elf doesn't look up from her food, but the tone of warning carries across the room.
The wolf flinches a little at the reprimand, but recovers quickly. "Yeah, so that's my story about the darkwolves. And gosh, it was pretty long, wasn't it? My throat is awfully dry." He coughs twice, rather unconvincingly. "Man, I sure am parched."