The girl darted through the field, deliciously, wildly free. Her hair hung to her waist in a matted sheet with burrs and berries in an arrangement that could only be made without effort. Her dress was a thin sheet, soft, and flowing and was ripped and stained with various berry's colors. Her legs were long, running and skipping freely through the over-grown grass. She twirled and she ran. And she ran. And she ran. She laughed, not a care in the world, her head light and dizzy. She reveled in this feeling. It was what she was born for. It was born for her.
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