1783, April 5th Life is tiring, especially as a farmer’s child, most of your days are spent being yelled at by your stepmother. Especially now, you’re supposed to be tending to the goats, which you’ve dreaded doing ever since the goat kids imprinted on you, but instead, you're reading in a small field mid-forest near your family’s farm. It’s peaceful and nice, the family’s herding dog is sitting beside you on your dress, sleeping. The apple tree above the pond flowing with the wind, horse trotting close—

Wait, horse trots? Your head snaps to a gentleman in a black cloak with a casual suit underneath. With a rifle, he interrupts the silence, “No worries, Ma’am, I was just hunting.”