Whitethorn Farm

You've finally reached the end of the long dirt road. Your ride leaves you there, you are walking the rest of the way with no intention of leaving. 

You're standing on the edge of a small wooden bridge, looking at the scene before you. 

Rolling hills, green pastures...sheep and cows are grazing the land contentedly. A few of the animals stop to look at you with lazy eyes. 

You continue on, over the bridge, and through the wide, open gate, the barrier that marks the boundaries of this place. Overhead, a wooden sign swings on a tall post. It proudly tells the name of the land you are entering.

Whitethorn Farm.