Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow is not mine. I make no money from this fanwork.
Prologue
After so many months they were used to the sounds, and even the proximity of those sounds. It was only natural that the armies hid and camped and fought under the camouflage of this thick dark forest and today the barking of muskets and the clanging of swords seemed further away than usual.
Nevertheless the two little girls worked hastily in the cold, silent as they gathered branches for their humble little fire. It was always so chilly in this part of the forest, even on warm days. Countless soldiers had died in these woods and their spirits roamed among the trees during the pitch black nights, bringing an icy cold with them that stayed even in summer and silencing the creatures that once chirped and sang in the top branches. Neither the girls nor their mother had ever seen these ghosts, as they didn't venture out at night, nor were they frightened by them, for they had a deep-rooted understanding that death was merely a boundary to be crossed; they were simply aware of these manifestations. Even from inside the little cave in which they lived they could feel and sense those unfortunate souls that had died by gunfire or sword or, in one case, by hanging; souls that couldn't or wouldn't cross that boundary.
The girls were crouched down close by the tree where the hanging had taken place, a thick crooked tree with giant, gnarled roots protruding from the ground. The tree was perched on top of its own little bluff along the old Indian trail but they needed smaller branches and twigs from the ground below.
Sounds of running feet caused them both to stand up, alert. In moments they found themselves face to face with a man they'd seen before, but from a distance. They called him the dark one for his uniform, his fearsome and intimidating appearance and presence, and for the large pitch-black horse he rode. His clothing was black from head to toe and he had black hair. Only his skin stood out as deathly pale, and his eyes were icy blue. His horse was nowhere to be seen now.
Both girls stood rock still, meeting his fierce gaze. The older twin held a bundle of branches that she'd gathered. The younger girl had left the pile of branches she'd gathered on the ground in her haste; she held only a single branch in her hand.
Somewhere behind the man there were voices and the crunch of leaves and snapping of twigs under several pairs of feet. The dark one put his finger to his lips.
"Shhh," he ordered.
The younger twin paused for a moment. Then she held the single branch with both hands and snapped it in two in a single swift, spiteful movement, summoning the soldiers that were looking to apprehend the dark one. Her sister dropped the bundle of branches she held and turned, fleeing in terror, but the younger one stayed, admiring what she'd set in motion, pleased with herself for breaking this powerful and ruthless man. She darted behind a tree and peered around its thick trunk, watching the dark one valiantly fight the soldiers in American uniforms until they bested him, beheaded him with his own sword and buried his body and head up on the little bluff beside the thick twisted hanging tree.