The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, sunlight's peeking through a gap in the door of some old, rustic windmill's grain store, I guess. Baskets of wheat are stacked all over, and the smell of grain is pretty strong. The air's still, and like, this old wooden wheel is just slowly turning, grinding the wheat into flour, no oxen or anything, just going by itself, must be mid-morning or so. A chicken is pecking at some spilled grain near the wheel, clucking softly.