Wheeling Gull Isle You're facing down a dark hall

Hunting; that was simpler than making a decision. Tybault nodded his agreement and thought on her question. The last time he ran...
He remembered when he'd realized he couldn't find Ophelia. When her scent trail led too far, grew too stale. He had run, then; desperately, for days before her scent crossed a river and was lost to him forever. It had taken even longer for him to admit defeat. Turn back, face his family; their denial, their apathy, it still pissed him off beyond words. Sometimes he hated them all for it.
Depends on what kind of running we're talking about, He grinned, feeling stupid; it was stupid. And easier than thinking about Ophelia. Hunting required running anyway, at least most of the time, and Tybault considered himself a decent hunter. He had hunted for his sister halfway across the world, it felt. What are we hunting?