At the sound of approaching footsteps, he looks over from where he's seated on the beach, sorting through stones. Little pieces of the land by the sea, that's all they are, but they're soft and round and come in such interesting colors. Had his childhood been more carefree, he likes to imagine he would have enjoyed beachcombing for treasures.

"I have," he replies. "Why?"

His own "grave", whatever that marker really is, isn't far away. If it weren't so dark, it could probably be seen from here. Hm.