Her tone amused him on some level. If anything it made his heart peaceful to know someone wanted to know his story. He tilted his head to the side and pointed to the gravestone twards the back, "He died from a wolf ripping his thoat out."<br/><br/>Blake sat down in the grass as he leaned back on a hand, "My grandfather hated wolves with every fiber of his being. He didn't like anything to be honest. My father tried to get the old man to stop hunting the wolves as he and I were much alike. We saw the importance of the wolf to the environment. Without them sickly deer would wander up in the winter," he glanced up at her from his spot, "A neighbor came complaining about something getting their sheep. Grandfather jumped at the chance to get another trophy," He nodded to the shed in the back, "I can't stand his trophies. I want to burn them but it doesn't feel right. I am working off and on to bury them."<br/><br/>He stood then and lead the way over to plowed plot where large holes had been dug. A few were filled in with a wreath of rosemary and dog wood bloom sat atop of them, "I've got about fifteen more to do."