The farm sprawled before you in all its dilapidated glory. A two-story farmhouse sat roughly a hundred yards back, its white paint peeling, a porch sagging on one side. To your left, the aforementioned barn listed slightly to the northeast. The fence Jean had mentioned looked like a strong gust of wind would finish the job.

A few chickens pecked listlessly in the dirt near a rusted water trough. In the distance, you could make out a handful of brown and white shapes that were presumably the cows. One of them—a large, particularly aggressive-looking one—was staring directly at you from across the field.