The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, old, wooden waterwheel sits alone in a misty valley, its large spokes slowly turning as a bunch of beavers quietly operate a rickety wooden sawmill. Uh, the crisp air's pretty cool, smelling of fresh cut wood and damp earth, as the late morning sun casts a pale light across the scene. The nearby forest is super still, except for the steady creaking of the waterwheel and sawmill, and a massive, perfectly straight tree somehow continues to steadily move forward through the forest without ever disturbing any of the surrounding foliage or trees. The air's pretty humid.