The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A vintage water mill's wooden wheel creaks and groans as it slowly rotates, driven by the gentle current of a crystal-clear stream. Umm, like, somehow the wheel's creaks seem to be in perfect sync with the calls of the birds perched on the surrounding trees. Inside the mill, grain is being ground into flour, but instead of the usual millstones, a pair of massive, opposing granite spheres are somehow grinding the grain without actually moving – it's like they're just, statically, grinding it. The air is cool and still, with a faint scent of fresh flour and a hint of morning dew.