The farm was lovely. Meadows of sweet smelling grass and hedges of fragrant daffodils dotted the pasture you grazed in, a fence separating you from the resident stallion of the farm. He trotted over and leaned heavily against the fence, giving you a once over, as if looking for something. “Hello, Newbie,” He spoke slowly, as if he thought of each word carefully. He peered at you over the fence, eyes cold as he stared down at you. “New to BirchWood Farms?” He grunted softly. “Name’s Ghost,”