The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a bunch of chickens is repairing this old, worn-down wind organ in a cramped, cluttered bell tower, somehow expertly reassembling the intricate wooden components, while a pair of doves nearby is effortlessly keeping a massive, ornate bell propped up using a perfectly placed wooden beam. The air's thick with the smell of old wood and dust, and the only sound is the quiet clucking of the chickens. Outside, the midday sun casts a pale glow over the quiet, snow-covered village, and somehow a big owl perched on the tower's roof is steadily turning the organ's crank, producing a steady, monotonous tune.