>Folllow.
>You follow along as she makes her way towards the barn then undoes the lock on the doors and pulls one aside. It opens with the low creek.
>Stepping inside, you get a pungent whiff of stables. Looking to your right, you see several stalls along the wall, currently stabling a pair of horses; they quietly acknowledge her entrance. Much of the rest of the room is devoted to storage: you see a plow and tack, and other basic farming and carpentry tools. A rack against the opposite wall holds spades, hoes, and a pitchfork, while the corner next to it is piled with sacks of seed or feed or something of that nature. Among this are scattered other bits and bobs of the trade, along shelves built into the wall or stacked on top of wooden boxes. It is relatively tidy, if not scrupulously organized.
>The farmer quickly makes her way over to ones of the shelves and pushes a few items aside, retrieving a large spool of bailing twine. Then she fetches the pitchfork off of the tool rack and brings it over to you.
>"Anything else you need?" she asks, handing them to you.