(no subject)

[unfortunatesoul]

[ Walking late in the snow. Again. ]

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well well well

[malleusveritatis]

[ Nighttime is not an empty void; its silence can have the presence of a crowd of people. It's peaceful, lacking a curious but subtle bustling of the world in daytime, but sensitive like the strings of an instrument.

It's really quite lovely, and Ichabod Crane might be able to enjoy any of this...if the darkness didn't seemingly act as a beacon for all of the sinister things in life. But he's stepped outside for some fresh, chilled air regardless. The cold is almost astringent and the quiet is soothing. Besides, this is hardly New York City, he has to remind himself.

His thoughts carry him away from Sleepy Hollow's cottages and toward some acres left untouched; even the snow here seems pristine and unscarred by footprints. He doesn't hear the trekking steps of another person until he is about to double back -- he has stopped a moment to regard the sky (not very clear, no moon in sight and barely enough stars to count on one hand) and that's when the sound drifts meagerly to his ears.

Curious, Crane looks about for a sign of another person -- but sees no lantern, nor someone who might carry one. In fact, the sound isn't coming from the direction he came.

Beyond this modest barrier of trees, perhaps? Slowly, Ichabod takes careful steps as he widens the distance between Sleepy Hollow and himself, pushing further into the outskirts; not quite forest, but not yet departing the town where trees freckle these outter patches of open fields.

It's here that he sees a figure walking, nearly lumbering away from where Ichabod stands. From here, and in the darkness, he cannot identify who it could be...but the man looks quite broad. He doesn't think he knows any person in Sleepy Hollow of that build. He shudders, presumably against the cold, wonders if he should just go back...but something sparks a fire in his gut, urging him to follow. He swallows, pauses for a nervous beat, and follows after the mysterious man. ]

Hello, love.

[unfortunatesoul]

The woods were dark, too much so for even shadows to move. Light was scarce, coming only from the little windows of the town and even those candles were slowly going out as the living fell to sleep, one by one. Dreams were beginning and the night grew longer. Men did not venture out here, lest they be carried away by sharp and terrible things.

But the Hessian had no fear of such creatures. He was one himself and free to roam as he pleased. The trees offered company on his walk. Their whispers soft and pleasant, though old. They remembered much of the world as it had been and were full of stories to share, if one had the time to listen. The Hessian paused for a moment at one such tree, a gloved hand reaching out and touching the bare bark. It shivered, branches moving against the wind as they flocked toward him to reveal their unspoken tales. His lips turned up into a grin, amused by this particular's tree unusual sense of humor, dropped his hand and continued his walk.

Death had been odd for him since it happened all those years ago. But even in life, normal had not fit him. He had never thought that much of death, only that when it happened, a new world would be open to explore. It had never occurred to him that his body would still roam among the living. What was he? Ghost? Demon? He knew so much and yet still knew very little of what was to become of his ... new standing in this life.

The old Tree in the middle of the woods where he was allowed entrance (and escape) from Hell was more mother than mentor. She offered him company and refuge when necessary. The townspeople did not venture into the woods, the recent events still fresh in their minds, but little by little, the town grew and spread into the outer edges of the woods. Homes were being built, though still far from the woods, close enough to give alarm to the remaining trees. The Hessian walked along this edge of scattered trees, eyes on the far away lights as they, one by one, went out.

There, in the complete darkness, he was content.

Except, man has ventured out to the woods. One in particular that the Hessian knows well enough to be wary. But he grins all the same and stops, head tilting to left as he listens to the footfalls. He wonders what has inspired Ichabod Crane to come out so far from the safety of the town but says not a thing until the man has come as close as his curiosity allows him. "Come to take my head?" He asks with amusement, voice heavy and thick.