I am not a sailor.
I desire to run.
Confine me not to a puddle dependent on the wind.
Direct me to the forest, the hills, and I will create my own draft,
as I speed across the ground,
flying over earth to distances greater than the confines of your wet berth.
No, I relish a solid state of matter beneath my feet.
I am a fire sign.
Warning: do not get wet.