The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, pigs are rooting around in the mud near a small wooden bridge crossing a slow-moving stream. The air's pretty still, with a gentle warmth and a smell of damp earth and moss. Watercress is somehow growing in intricate, perfectly geometric patterns on the surface of the stream, and a small, rusty old wheelbarrow on the bridge is steadily filling itself with fresh berries. The late morning sun casts dappled shadows through the trees surrounding the stream, and a couple of birds are chirping quietly in the distance.