Fresh and sweet the wind rustled the grasses of the Burrow, jogging the gnomes out of their wintery slumber as spring rolled in over the garden.
The door flew open, and out she ran, lithe and powerful with her short stature; willing the speed to pour out of her, to take her over brand new pastures. To show her new skies.
He was stupid.
An idiot.
Reckless and too noble for his own good.
He was leaving her again.
The wind bustled about her hair; she should have tied it back, and now it blew like rose gold about her head, marring her vision. Halting her escape.
"Ginny!" He called.
And she was trapped.