The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A small, worn-out wooden waterwheel is turning slowly in a gentle stream, surrounded by a lush green forest with tall trees and a few birds flying overhead. The air's pretty cool and humid, with the smell of damp earth and a hint of moss as the sun shines down from early morning position, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor. Umm, a nearby stack of freshly cut firewood somehow just keeps getting neatly rearranged into perfectly symmetrical patterns, like someone's constantly tidying it up. The sound of gently flowing water fills the air.