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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tendrils of ivy spill from an ancient stone dolmen in the middle of a wheat field, somehow reflecting the shape of the constellations above in their tangled patterns. Umm, the air's heavy with a sweet scent, like... ripening grain, and a faint electric charge makes my skin tingle. A nearby wooden fence post is... somehow threading itself back together from splintered fragments, repair unfolding before my eyes without any visible cause. Sunlight filters through the dense wheat in a warm, golden light, with a low buzz of insects in the background, air totally still.