I run down the wheat field, the raining sun glistening off the grass. I pull up my dress, just below my knees and run free. The wind rushing threw my hair and the speed in my muscles sends adrenaline coursing through my veins. My heart beats to the sound of my feet when they reach the ground. I smile in bliss. As soon as my run starts so do the yells, "You! Girl. Witch!"

I spin around to look at who dares say the word 'witch' off their lips. When I do I see the points of their fingers and the numbers of their mob. They're coming for me. My eyes open up in fear. How can they say I'm a witch? I believe in the All Mighty Lord. Christ himself would not condemn me to being immortalized as a witch. My feet root into the ground as a heavy burden and I can not move. I hope to my soul that this outrage is all but a dream. A figment of my imagination as if I fell asleep under the vast willow by my home. But I blink in frustration to get rid of this nightmare, and it does not go away. The mob of men and women just brush forward and I take off. I lift my skirt and run faster than the wind. I run with the gift My Lord has given me. To out run the mob that screams after.

The sun is setting as I run to the woods. Branches crunching under my feet and the large underbrush keeping me guarded from gleaming sun. They protect me from the eyes of my village people. I know once they have set their minds on one being a witch, that person is condemned to being one until jury says other wise. But even with the backs of my village turned on me, I run. Faster and faster as the sun sets with me. Soon nothing but orange-brown sky surrounds me with a pink undertone. The beauty of the sky doesn't distract me from my goal and that is to find shelter from the crazy people. My breath catches in my throat and burns like a fire in heat. I don't know if I can make it farther than a few feet.

As energy falls from my body like a oak tree shedding leaves in fall, the mob slowly dwindles from my sight. With the mob decreasing my speeds lessens. "Shh, no!" is whispered to me somewhere. I spin around and am caught by arms, I scramble to escape but am not freed. I'd scream but a hand covers my mouth as they catch in my throat. They whisper in my ear to calm down and soon I do. When I'm let go I turn around to look at the person who has caught me so. The person is tall and lean, a boy. When I look at his face I see he is no boy, but a young man of about seventeen. I look at his face, it has the wisdom of someone twice his age, but the youth of someone of my generation. His eyes are smokey grey and a black folds of hair frame his face, his lips are round and full. "We have to go." He says, interrupting my stares.

"What?" I respond, confused at his words.
He sighs in, "The people. They are going to kill us unless we run. We're condemned witches, we must leave." He says. His voice not showing any tone of emotion.
"Who are you? And how would you know this?" I ask, my eyes ruffled in confusion and distrust.
"I'm Samuel Grey."