The Barn is split up into four stalls, each with a faded name painted on the creaking half-door (Charlotte, Elenore, Buck an Teddy). The smell of horses and hay still hangs in the air. The ground is littered with decayed hay and dust, with thick grey and brow stones poking out through the gaps. The tack room in the back is still laden with bridles and saddles, and a pair of lonely boots stand by the door.

What is now the Crow's Field was once a corn field - and still kind of is, though the corn is now smaller and more sickly. None the less, the crows like to come and feed on it, thus earning the place the name "Crow's Field." It is said among the Friends of Man that the day the crows leave the field is the day the Descendants of Likely take over the world. For all our sakes, I hope that doesn't happen.

Crow's Field is an excellent hunting ground, as deer and other pray come out to nibble on the withering crop as well. Be careful though. It's a maze in there, and dogs have been lost for days on end trying to find their way out.