Sunset Valley love makes hunters of us all [m]

the stranger's response draws a brief, quiet chuckle from him. we're all hunting something, he thinks, gaze drifting down the other's figure as the man drinks. "hunting what?" he asks, ignoring his returned question. he expects a simple answer, boring, perhaps too literal — not so dissimilar from his initial assessment of the grey wolf before him. but he asks the question nonetheless, perhaps in vain hope of finally furthering his own hunt. he still hasn't figured out what it is he's hunting for.