But who says we are sane

Bare feet ran across the hard cold ground, as if there was a hurry. But the human being, was far too interested in running, enjoying herself, to even hurry. A cascade of red velvet hair was flying behind the fifth year, somehow still neat. Cheeks were red, breaths came in heavy pants. Her sides were starting to ache, but satisfaction that she ran this long ran thick in her blood.

She felt like a small of reassurance was being kindled in her tortured soul. Reassurance that everything was going to be o.k, and she can still be the free bird she once was.

The bare feet slowed down, until they weren't moving no more. She wiggled her toes, now fully aware of the bitter cold sweeping through her feet, up her body. But her shoes were far away, and she didn't remember a charm to warm her feet up.