When Emily woke up, she was no longer in a field of sharp blades of grass, but in a meadow, with cows and horses chomping on herbs and pigs rolling in mud. Emily stood up uneasily, her head spinning, and dusted herself off. She was happy to see that her backpack was still on her back and the night sky had turned into day. She saw a small puncture mark on her ankle, but she couldnt remember how that had got there. All Emily could remember of the day before was the blades of grass cutting into her legs as she plowed through them. Oddly, there were no signs of the cuts on her legs. She started making her way through the meadow, staying away from the animals, and climbed up a small hill. She could see a big red farm, coverered with hay and rusty nails. Overjoyed, Emily ran up the hill, to the door, and pounded furiously. She was hoping for a jolly old farmer or a plump old lady with a bucket of eggs. Something friendly, at least. But when the old door creaked open, Emily had to keep down a scream.