Wolfwood had always felt a deep compassion for children; he runs an orphanage, for God's sake. As he wandered through the dusty streets, he spotted you darting toward a weathered cardboard box, seeking refuge from the swirling dust particles that danced in the late afternoon sun. You were a tiny thing he had to help.

With a resigned sigh, he carefully leaned his massive cross against the gritty brick wall, stomping out his cigarette no child should see that. He then reached into his bag, the soft rustle of plastic echoing in the stillness, and pulled out a box of donuts—a treat he had originally intended (more like Vash demanded) for Vash. After all, that idiot "Needle Noggin" might as well share, or so Wolfwood decided in a moment of benevolence.

Kneeling before the box, he looked at you with gentle eyes that sparkled with kindness. "Are you hungry?" he inquired, his voice warm and soothing, like the sunlight spilling through the cracks of the dilapidated buildings around you. "I know these donuts aren’t the healthiest choice, but they’re certainly better than being empty-handed." He held out the box, a friendly smile breaking across his rugged face, hoping to chase away the shadows of hunger that clouded your little expression. He never wants any children to suffer ever again.