I'm walking up a mountain, on a trail that goes up a gully. The terrain is all green, except for the rocky trail, and I can see all the way down several thousand feet to a village below. I'm pulling a wagon or cart with two women in it; they are unfamiliar, but seem to be my friends.

I'm pulling the wagon with my right hand, and with my left, holding a remote control, with which I'm driving a little remote-control car, about the size of a matchbox car, up the trail.

I accidentally drive the car underneath a flat rock on the trail, and I stop to pull the car out. I reach under the rock and pull out a car, but it isn't mine; there was also a different car under there, not a remote-control one, just a matchbox car. That's a really funny coincidence, and I turn to show the car to the girls, but then I realize that when fishing around under the rock, I had let go of the trailer, and they are rolling back down the hill. I run after them for a couple steps, but quickly realize that there is no hope of catching them, as they rapidly descend, helplessly, probably to their deaths. I can see the fear on their faces, looking up at me from a few hundred feet down the trail, falling faster and faster away.