The earth trembled, thunder rumbling through the ground. Razor hooves pounded into the frozen landscape, clumps of dismal brown flecking the stark white of snow in sharp contrast. Muscles rippled beneath a sleek, midnight pelt; sweat foaming and slithering down the arched neck and flanks. Nostrils flared and ears laid back into a silken mane. Crafted leather boots urged the great beast onward; cruel, spiked spurs lightly touching the sensitive flesh with urgency. A sudden 'bang' shattered the crisp, winter air. Several pained whinnies erupted from the seasoned charger; his legs becoming stiff as white-hot agony coursed throughout his body. The rider, now sprawled across the snow, quickly overcame the light fog in his head, and crawled towards his fallen steed. Icy-blue eyes stared unbelieving at the scarlet blood, seething from a gruesome hole in the stallion's thick neck. A gloved hand, the very one that had taken so many lives, reached out and gently stroked the horse's neck in a rare act of compassion. Another gunshot resounded through the air, followed by shouts. The hunter had become the hunted.

Glancing at the distant, ever enclosing forms of his pursuers, the horseman grudgingly left his faithful companion's side and bolted for the dark forest. Shadowy trees swallowed him whole, ghostly wind whispering past his ear in a foreboding chant. Suddenly, panicked steps faltered and heels dug into the powdery, white snow. Two small figures, pale skin contrasting to the light pink dresses that enveloped their minuscule bodies, stared wide-eyed. The young girls were both fair haired, most likely twins. The Hessian sighed with relief, perhaps they could hide him. Raising a gloved finger to his lips, he hissed in the universal sign to stay quiet.

"Shh."
One girl, cold eyed and stoney faced, unlike her companion, snapped the brittle stick in her small hands with a resounding 'crack'. The sound seemed to shatter the very air, echoing through the brambles and scraggly trees. The second child dropped the pile of debris and small branches held in her thin arms, running in the other direction.

Bellowing a great war-cry, the mercenary spun on his heel and deflected a blow from the sword of an American soldier; gutting the fool swiftly and turning his attention onto the next opponent. A blade crafted of steel sang through the air, its deadly edges greedily severing a head from it's body, then rending an unfortunate arm at the elbow. Several more blue-coats fell, their heads rolling on the cold earth. Raising both arms to prevent a lightly rusted longsword from splitting his skull in two, the horseman failed to notice another soldier behind him. Sharp, fiery pain erupted from his spine, and coursed throughout his body. The air catching in his throat, the once great menace fell to his knees, gasping for each labored breath. The coward whom hadn't been man enough to face his enemy snatched the sword thickly coated with the blood of his comrades, and raised it high above his head. Wild eyed, the American soldier felt a prickling of smugness tugging at him. pausing to savor the moment of triumph before finally defeating his foe, unknowing that such obnoxiousness would cost him dearly.
An oblivion of blood and bone tore from a stout neck, pale and reddened skin bursting into the equivalence of torn, blood soaked paper. Several sharp, low whistles cut through the chill air, the remaining blue-coats falling where they stood. Cold, blue eyes hazily glanced towards the still bodies, falling upon the eerie messengers of death. Arrows. The soft crunch of footfalls drew him from fevered thoughts, evoking an animalistic snarl and the feral barring of sharpened teeth. A strange figure emerged from the shadows, but stopped just beyond his fuzzy, red-hazed vision. The shape slowly took a step forward. The Hessian snarled once more, reaching for his sword instinctively, but fell onto his side as searing pain shot through his rigid body. He was vulnerable, and that frightened the horseman. Two things he had not experienced in many, many years. The form cautiously walked forward, kneeling an arms length away from the fallen mercenary. It reached out, long arms snaking around his waist, careful to avoid the deep, seething wound torn across his back. He suddenly found himself being lifted, the strange being's movements gentle and deliberate. A shrill, piercing sound suddenly erupted from, what he assumed, was keeping his limp and weakened body from hitting the ground. Something came from deep within the trees, a gentle whisper that tickled his pale skin. Was it a whinny? No, he had to be delusional. The soldiers did not have horses, and Daredevil was sprawled across the snow in some god forsaken field, a bullet in his neck. Oh, how wrong he was.
Another strange form appeared through the trees, but it was much, much larger. Everything was a strange form, now. Every tree, every snowflake, even his own nose that sat proudly just under icy eyes, was nothing more than a blurry, misshapen thing. The odd feeling of being slung over something warm and queerly shaped overcame him. The heavy, delicious scent of sunlight, snow and sweat filled his nostrils. Horse. This was most definitely a horse. The Hessian found himself righted, and it seemed he was sitting in a saddle, long appendages around his waist to grasp what seemed to be the reins. A weird, musical word drifted from somewhere close to his ear, hot breath tickling his chilled skin. The supposed horse, turning sharply beneath the two riders, lunged forward and sped through the thick brambles and thicket of trees with lithe agility.
The stinging sensation of winter air cut at pale skin, whipping unruly, black hair into a mass of tangles and cow-licks. Suddenly, as if his eyes had opened for the first time, everything came into sharp focus. Wind stung at eerily blue eyes, dead brush reaching out like bony, ghostly hands to claw at frozen flesh. They broke from the restraining grasp of the forest, and found themselves in an enclosed, snowy clearing. A broad, ice encased wall of rock towered high above the riders, reaching for the clouded sky. The horseman took in his surroundings with keen, warrior's eyes. He was sitting in a finely crafted saddle of what seemed to be white leather, but more importantly, astride a bleached steed. Its pert ears swiveled back, then to the sides, listening for any impending danger. A gentle, velvet voice said another queer word. A bright light glowed from beneath a blanket of snow and ice, creating an ornate arch covered with intricate designs that meshed together formed the illusion of ivy, then plunging horses, but became the twisting forms of noble dragons. The markings shimmered and seemed to move, always changing. Strange, elegant writing slowly formed, eerie whispers snaking their way from the ivory doors that opened from the sheer cliff face. Watching with both curiosity and slight agitation, the Hessian wondered briefly who lived beyond such gates, and the identity of the being that sat behind him. A silent signal seemed to pass from the hidden rider to the horse, for it whinnied gleefully and pranced forth; head held proudly and neck arched as it traveled through the mystical gate.