“Something's wrong with Hunter. I can tell the moment he steps into the ring. I've been watching him from afar for years, and I'm an old pro at his body language. Hunter West is a guy who's used to setting the agenda. His limbs are usually loose and relaxed, carried with the kind of self-assurance that comes from knowing you've got it all handled.”

“I had these made special. The design is raised instead of carved in. Can you feel it?" Dillon asked.Hunter ran his fingertip over the outside of the ring. He nodded as a tear formed in the corner of his eye."Can you tell me what it is?" Dillon asked quietly.Hunter nodded and his voice choked. "Two people…""Two men," Dillon corrected."Two men," Hunter said, "pulling each other into the center of a circle."Dillon watched his single tear slip and start sliding down his cheek. "Would you step into that circle with me, Hunter?"Hunter nodded, a small sound escaping him. "Yes.”

“If the partridge didn't call at the wrong moment, Neither the hunter nor the falcon would know of it. It follows from this point also, That everyone's voice betrays him.”

“He who kills from afar knows nothing at all about act of killing. He who kills from afar derives no lesson from life or from death; he neither risks nor stains his hands with blood, nor hears the breathing of his adversary, nor reads the fear, courage, or indifference in his eyes. He who kills from afar tests neither his arm, his heart, nor his conscience, nor does he create ghosts that will later haunt him every single night for the rest of his life. He who kills from afar is a knave who commends to others the dirty and terrible task that is his own.”

“I've been looking forward to this for weeks. You don't even know. It's like, gross hunter, gross hunter, gross hunter, puppet show!”

“That was Hunter,' said Quinn as his father's footsteps faded away.'I figured. Since he said to call him Hunter and everything.”