The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a huge, old-fashioned millstone is slowly turning in a circular motion, somehow perfectly synchronized with a small group of rabbits in tiny overalls, who are busy sifting through a massive pile of freshly ground flour. The air's cool and crisp, with a light breeze carrying the sweet smell of baking bread from somewhere nearby. A small wooden cart, piled high with perfectly formed loaves, is somehow moving steadily across the stone floor without any visible means of propulsion. It's like late morning, judging by the position of the sun shining through the large windows high up in the brick wall.