The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Soft sunlight filters through the grimy windows of an old wooden gristmill, casting a warm glow on a group of otters methodically operating the ancient machinery. Uh, the air's thick with the smell of damp grain and fresh water, and the sound of rushing water from the nearby stream creates a soothing background hum. A perfectly stationary, massive, old stone grindstone is somehow steadily grinding away at a pile of grain, even though the waterwheel outside isn't turning and the entire mill's been completely still. The smell of freshly ground flour fills the air as the otters carefully scoop it into large burlap sacks.