Ichabod…
He heard the soft, sweet voice of his mother calling for him. He watched her running about in a circle, a blindfold wrapped around her head. She felt around blindly, searching for him in their little game. Ichabod, she called again, feeling around the forest for her son. Her fingertips brushed up against the thick tree's bark. "Now, that is not my little Ichabod," she joked innocently.
Ichabod, a small boy of seven, hid behind a little green bush, giggling. He saw her feel around a plant, sniffing it, her lovely voice calling his name again. Ichabod, oh how he loved to hear her say his name, over and over again. "Mama!" he cried, running up to her. The woman smiled and flung her arms out, around the little boy. The two embraced in gleeful bliss. The woman pulled off her blindfold, revealing the most beautiful eyes, to match the most beautiful soul inside.
"I've found you, silly boy," she grinned, hugging him tightly again. Ichabod's face glowed with happiness, the warm, loving feeling of his mother's arms around him.
"Shall we play another game?" she asked.
Ichabod nodded his head quickly, a growing smile forming on his little face.
Lady Crane smiled. "Very well, why don't we dance, then?"
Ichabod's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes! Dancing, dancing, dancing!" he hopped up and down in a fit of excitement.
His mother hoisted him up in the air, the two of them spinning together. "Alright then, let's dance!" she shouted. Ichabod's giggled uncontrollably, soaring through the air in his mother's safe grasp. Everything seemed so wonderful when he was around his mother. The soft whisper of the wind in her hair, the subtle, yet bright smile she always had for him. She games they could play together. She was much more fun than father.
Yes, father. It didn't seem like he liked to play with Ichabod that much.
But Ichabod didn't let that get in his way. He chuckled more and more as he flew through the sky, falling back down on the soft, meadowy grass with his mother.
"I love you, Ichabod. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently," his mother said, her eyes gazing up at the clouds. She sighed contently, pointing up to a big, fluffy one. "Now tell me, Ichabod, what does that cloud up there look like?"
Ichabod thought hard, tapping his finger to his chin. He stopped to giggle. "I know! I know! A dog, right? And that one over there is a kitty, and that one over there is a pony! Right, I'm right, right?" his imagination running wild.
Lady Crane merely smiled and said softly. "They can be whatever you want them to be."
…
Later on that night, Ichabod shivered, huddling underneath his warm blankets in his little bed; the shadows of the night looming across his windows. He heard the thunder strike outside with a loud BOOM. He jumped, shivering even more, but his mother was right there beside him. She pulled out a little picture, cut out in a circle. One side a bird, the other side a cage. Ichabod was puzzled, staring at the thing. His mother twisted the little string edges of the picture, it swirling before his very eyes. Suddenly the bird was in the cage! It was magic, wonderful magic! Ichabod smiled, forgetting the troublesome storm outside.
"Don't be afraid Ichabod, don't let anything ever make you afraid," his mother said.
It was a wonderful moment between Ichabod and his mother, possibly the happiest Ichabod had ever felt, feeling so safe and secure, if not for the silhouette of a man outside. The dark, blank, cruel, silhouette of a man: looking all too clearly like his father.