Guinevere's eyes opened groggily, her head pounding as she looked around, not knowing where she was or how she'd gotten there. It appeared she'd awakened in some kind of large field, almost like a jousting field, but with strange white lines and numbers painted on the grass. She rubbed her eyes, trying to remember. Suddenly, it all came screaming back at her. Arthur. The Well of Dreams. The future. “You're going to get trampled!” Cocking her head at the voice, still dazed, she scanned the field to determine who was yelling and what they meant by their words. A moment later her eyes fell on a group of helmeted men, charging toward her at top speed. She struggled to her feet, but tripped over her long gown, splashing into the mud instead. The men didn't slow down. She tried to stand again—desperately looking from left to right—wondering which way she should run— SLAM! One of the men, who had been running backwards, not looking where he was going, crashed into her, knocking her down.
