The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, a small wooden mill is slowly grinding out flour on a grassy hillside, surrounded by old, overgrown shrubs and vines that block most of the mid-morning sunlight. The air is still and dry, with a strong scent of fresh bread wafting from the mill, and the sound of birds chirping fills the calm air. Like, a nearby stream is somehow flowing uphill, the water smoothly gliding up the incline as if pulled by an invisible force, while a few ducks swim and play in its gentle currents. The warm sunlight casts a golden glow over the whole scene.