When I was just a young boy, my father took me hunting in the woods. We were trying to find a wolf that was eating our cattle. We eventually found the beast and my grandfather handed me his trusted rifle. He helped me set my sights and align for the wind change to make sure the bullet struck true. But I couldn't do it, I couldn't pull the trigger. Who was I to remove this beast from the earth? I was just a shepard's boy from the Ural mountains, a nobody. The wold ran and my father became irate. It took us several hours to return home, the long walk was quiet and filled with tension. It was only until we returned to our humble abode that we discovered that wolves attacked my mother, ripping her throat out. It was right then and there I knew I was to blame.