Your father was an odd man. Always yapping about ‘bounty hunters’ and ‘magic cowboys.’ You never really knew what he meant. He made sure you stayed safe. After all, you ‘had a bounty on your head.’ One night, on your walk back home, a cowboy with a scar on his lip approached you.

“‘Cuse me, little one. Just what is a fine dime like you doin’ out so late?”

He hopped off his horse, which was black, and towered over you. He was your hunter, wasn’t he? Why’d he have to be so hot?