Winter Kills

Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow is of course not my invention, nor do i make money off any of it thereof.

She was collecting herbs in the Western Woods one morning; the way her mother had taught her long ago, asking consent from the plant’s spirit before taking a single leaf and scattering a gift of seeds for each plant she took. So engrossed was she in her work that she didn’t notice the Horseman observing her from the forest’s edge.
He watched, his patrol abruptly halted. This fey being; slim and pale in her grey cloak and green gown, long ebony hair unbound in waves to her knees, had startled him. Moving quietly from one plant to another, she had blended so well with the early autumn woods around her it was almost as though she had materialized by magick out of the misty air.
She finished her gathering and whispered an invocation of gratitude to the Goddess and the Spirits of the Forest, bowing in blessing. As she straightened she looked up and noticed the still solitary figure on the huge black stallion watching her from the boundary of the woods. Her eyes widened in surprise and she dropped her bundle, realizing the man watching her was none other than the fierce Hessian Mercenary feared throughout the land for his merciless slaying of Revolutionary Soldiers in battle.
Moments passed as they stared at each other. She observed how easily he sat on his warhorse, and the sword and battle-axe well within his reach. His armor was black, stark against the changing landscape. As he advanced toward her she walked forward, speaking out in a clear voice.
“Blessings upon you this day, Brave Warrior! What brings you to these woods?” She made a gesture of greeting, touching hands to her forehead then spread wide as she bowed slightly to him.
He stopped his approach, surprised. There was no fear in her words, and a lilting musical tone to her speech that he had not heard among the Revolutionary Soldiers or the townspeople. Indeed, he had never heard such a voice before in his life! This was a new experience for him, being spoken to without fear. It certainly hadn’t happened in a long time, in any case. Even his fellow soldiers were loathe to speak to him except when necessary, and he could see the terror plain upon their faces and in their very stances even then! So how was it that this slim pale female he could tear in half with his bare hands, should he so desire, was speaking to him with no semblance of dread whatsoever?
“How is it you do not flee screaming in terror?” He asked with a heavy, guttural German accent, more of a growl.
“You do not fear me, nein?” She allowed a small smile before responding.
“Should I fear you, then, when I am no soldier to do battle with you? And surely while I am not yet ready to die, I would rather a quick death by your sword than to slowly exit this lifetime at the end of a Holy Rope prepared by the esteemed Reverend of yonder Village!” Is she a hexe? He asked himself, then noticed his steed Daredevil, still making his way forward to nuzzle her outstretched hand.
“What a noble beast you are!” she murmured, stroking the horse’s long nose.
The Hessian was again shocked. Daredevil was as ferocious as himself, and a well-trained warhorse! Why, then, was he as gentle as an old pony to this lone, strange woman? She looked up at the Horseman with wide green eyes.
“Such a beautiful creature! What is his name?” She inquired. He gasped, almost completely enspelled by the combination of eyes and voice. She continued to look at him questioningly as he finally recovered his composure.
“Daredevil” he finally managed to say.
“Well met, Daredevil!” She said softly, giving the horse another stroke.
“And well met to you also…” she trailed off, not knowing his name. She looked up again at his fearsome visage; noticing his pale blue eyes that seemed to burn hot and cold simultaneously, his wild black hair and deathly pallor. She saw his teeth; which were, as legend described, filed to sharp points one and all. She reached up to take his hand in her own, in greeting. Suddenly he pulled his hand away, shaking his head either in negation or to clear it; perhaps both.
“Nein!” He snapped, and jerked Daredevil’s reigns. Then, turning away, he road out of the woods and quickly back to his camp.
She watched him gallop away, raising one hand in a wave.
“Farewell, then, chosen of Morrigu. Until we meet again.” She said softly, then picked up her bundle of herbs and returned home.

He galloped briskly back to camp; cursing himself for his lapse in self-control, which still wouldn’t return enough to drive her face and voice from his mind. He hoped for another battle, and soon! Separating a few heads from their owners would bring him back into focus! He reached his destination and dismounted, giving Daredevil a quick brushing down then settling down to sharpen his sword with a glare that bespoke doom for any who dared interrupt him. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He hadn’t though about someone this intensely since… he shook his head once again to clear it. Some memories were better left buried, and he wouldn’t allow himself to feel that way ever again! He was here to kill, and kill he would until some opponent got lucky enough to kill him and end his misery for good!

Her home had been here in the Western Woods since her childhood, when she had come to the new world. Her mother had chosen this cave deep in the woods for two reasons. The first reason was for solitude, far and away from the townsfolk and their church, where she could teach her daughter the old ways of the Goddess; magick and ceremony that had been all but vanquished by the newer religion. Secondly, the cave had reminded her mother of the hollow hills and barrows where dwelt the Sidhe back in Ireland. She had lived alone since her mother’s passing a few years ago, with no need for human contact. She felt it a necessity to hide from chance travelers in the woods, as speculation about a lone woman in the forest would cause curiosity, and stories would surely reach the village priest.
Her mother had especially warned her not to run afoul of churchmen and priests, for they usually persecuted those who did not subscribe to their same beliefs. It was from these travelers, though, that she overheard stories about the Hessian. Townsfolk fearing to meet his sword, Revolutionary soldiers and even his comrades in arms patrolling the woods revealed fear of him. So her life had been solitary, and wild as the Fair Folk her mother had told her stories of as a child, until her encounter with the Hessian.