I slow to a halt and look around, grasping on to my cuts as if that were to heal them. Trees, trees everywhere. North, East, South, West, every which way. I had been running for at least an hour, and I think I passed the tall oak tree by the bushes a while ago. I plop down on the ground, exhausted, to bump my head on a crag. I shoot back up and rub my head, still searching hopelessly for a way back.

I stumble over to another part of the meadow and lay down with a sigh. Eventually, my eyes close and just before I drift off, a wind picks up with the feel of the fan in my room. Out of second nature I reach down for my blanket, to be rudely reminded that I am in the woods, miles away from my blanket at home.