The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A small farmhouse kitchen, with a wooden table in the center, surrounded by rustic cabinetry and vintage utensils hanging on the walls. Uh, the air's pretty warm and stuffy, smelling of freshly baked bread, as a lazy sunbeam filters through the window, casting a faint glow on the room. A group of raccoons, seemingly identical to the ones from the monastery, are busily making a massive apple pie, expertly peeling, coring, and slicing the fruit without ever actually touching the apples themselves. Gentle clucking noises come from a nearby coop, as if the chickens are quietly observing the raccoons' culinary prowess.