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Nate trudged up an incline of crazy undergrowth. The snags and snarls of this rolling terrain consisted less to him than once he had viewed it from the comfort of the rear porch. Below the incline, a flow acted as his compass. He weaved in and outside of blackberries and blueberries bushes, and trees of plums, figs, and peaches. All recognizable by the fruit they bore. Sometimes he drifted deep enough into the woods to lose sight of the brook, but the gurgling sound of water rushing across the rock-covered underside helped him keep his posture. He took a minute to rest and idea of Hannah. According to her, it was common long past for a big estate to have a private cemetery. They agreed that Nathan Freedman's final resting spot likely lay somewhere on the house. Odds on finding the tomb seemed slender, yet worth the attempt. After breakfast, his grandparents had taken a trip into town to get groceries, presuming Nate would spend the afternoon reading in his area. Nate had watched their car pull around the bend then snuck down the key staircase and outside the backdoor. He had no real expectation of discovering the cemetery today, but he could at least scout the place for the most favorable place to begin a search. However, he didn't want to chance missing something. With a stick he fashioned into a staff, he probed the ground for any remnants of a burial website. Vines growing thick enough to conceal a fence, heaps of rocks that resembled tomb markers, as well as rocks that looked like broken headstones. Nate researched them all. Two hours into the hunt, he came to a clearing where a gap in a development of old trees resembled a yawning mouth. Beneath maples, oaks, and evergreens, a carpet of leaves and fallen branches littered the floor. Nate fig...