Ichabod woke somewhere that was not his bed. He hated when that happened. It was usually because he'd fainted. But he clearly remembered going to bed. In his own bed. Or rather, in the bed he was borrowing for his sojourn in Sleepy Hollow. But the point was, he was in a bed that wasn't the one he fell asleep in.

Now, who had moved him, why had they moved him, and where had they moved him to? He thought for a moment and remembered. He'd been sleeping, peacefully for once, and then he'd felt a hand cover his mouth. He'd woken instantly to come face to ----- er that is, he'd seen the Headless Horseman looming over him. Needless to say he'd fainted. The Horseman had probably then picked him up and carried him here. Ichabod was also fairly sure 'here' was the Tree of the Dead. Which only left his third question. Why? Why kidnap him? If his investigation was getting in the Horseman's way there was an easy remedy to that. One swing of the axe, swish, and Ichabod would be just another headless body. He obviously had no qualms about killing. So why spare Ichabod?

Ichabod peered cautiously out from beneath the covers. No sign of him. Best to use this time in investigation. He rose and began prowling the small room. All very Spartan, a single chair, a rough, sturdy table, and the bed he just rose from were the only furniture. There was a single candle burning steadily on the table. But search as he might he couldn't find a door. He was trapped.

And it was freezing. He absentmindedly rubbed his arms, trying to figure out what to do. A heavy cloak was settled around his shoulders. He pulled it closed. Turning to thank the owner he found himself once again facing the Horseman. He felt the blood rush from him, of course it was the Horseman. Who else would be in the Tree? Damn, he was going to faint again. His knees buckled. Strong arms fastened around his waist. Ichabod felt a shiver run through his body.

He rather liked the feeling of those strong arms around him. He didn't know why, and he had a feeling he didn't want to know why. With monumental effort he pushed his disquieting thoughts away and stammered. "Wh-Why----- Why have you brought me here?" The horseman released him, which made him feel oddly bereft, and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he had painstakingly described his problem on. His ability ro write in English was shaky at best, and his handwriting was horrendous. But Ichabod was able to puzzle out these words,

Black witch, Lady Van Tassal

Stole head, using to control me

Need you to get head back

Ichabod gulped, "Of course." He told the silent figure, "Merely take me to where it is and I'll get it back for you."

The Horseman gestured and a hole appeared in the Tree. The Horseman exited through it. Apparently Ichabod was expected to follow him. He did so quickly, trying to ignore the severed heads that lined the passage.

****

The Horseman was trying not to think about how nice it felt to be able to touch the young man, no matter how briefly. And he was cheered considerably by the fact that the young man hadn't actually fainted when he saw him, and had even been able to talk to him, however much he stuttered. With a sense of unease he realized he didn't even know the young man's name. Perhaps it was better this way, it would be easier when the young man left this way. Names were personal, and he daren't hope for what he knew he couldn't have. And the young man would leave, as soon as he got his head back and stopped killing. He was almost tempted to keep killing just to keep the young man around. But the young man wouldn't like that, he could tell. He mounted Daredevil, and waited patiently as the young man scrambled up awkwardly behind him. Oh sweetness, that young, lean body pressed against his back, those arms wrapped tightly around his waist, hanging on for dear life as Daredevil sped through the forest.