The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, there's a pretty old-fashioned wooden mill wheel spinning in the middle of a narrow, babbling brook, surrounded by a bunch of tall willow trees. Like, the air's pretty crisp and smells like wet earth, and it's probably late morning judging from the sun peeking through the trees. A small family of otters is somehow powering the mill wheel by running on tiny, submerged treadmills beneath the water's surface, but they're not really going anywhere since the brook's barely flowing. The whole scene is pretty peaceful, with birds chirping in the background and all that.