The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Soft sunlight filters through a grimy window, casting a warm glow on a small, old-fashioned woodworking shop. Like, shavings and sawdust cover every surface, and the smell of freshly cut wood fills the air. A small, wooden rocking horse is somehow slowly carving itself from a block of raw wood, the chisel moving precisely as it shapes out delicate legs and a flowing mane. The air is still and quiet, except for the soft creaking of the wooden shop and a few birds chirping outside.