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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A dense thicket of twisted blackthorn shrubs gives way to an overgrown clearing, where an imposing dolmen stands, its weathered capstone reflecting dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Umm, water's somehow seeping upwards from the dry earth, pooling at the base of the ancient monument, as the air vibrates with an almost imperceptible hum. The air's heavy with the scent of damp soil and wildflowers, and a gentle breeze carries the faint tang of salt, despite being miles inland. Like, a raven perched atop the dolmen is steadily unraveling a thread of raw silk from its beak, without moving its body.