DX01: SINGULARITY 04053

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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A lone ox slowly circles a large, rustic mill, its weathered wooden planks covered in vines, surrounded by an overgrown clearing in a dense forest. Uh, the air's heavy with the smell of damp earth and moss, and it's probably late afternoon judging by the sun's low position filtering through the canopy. A small family of squirrels is busy polishing the mill's stone wheel using what looks like tiny, delicate rags made from old, tattered silk. Like, somehow, a half-dozen worn leather boots are neatly lined up against the mill's base, each one somehow slowly, steadily filling with fresh, golden honey.