She blinks at that, a bit thrown, and then laughs a little, bemused, as she leans against a tree and thinks.
"I'm afraid I don't know. My parents died when I was a child, and the uncle who raised me...well, he was an antiquarian, a historian, an archaeologist, and quite interested in the past. But not particularly in our family's. I know half of my family was from France originally, but I'm rather afraid that's it."
(He'd had a fever from infection due to that wound. She'd treated it very efficiently and, for a reason he never understood, with sections of mold from a particular French cheese put into the wound--and for some reason, it had make him recover much more quickly than he'd ever have imagined. But it had still taken time, and she'd talked to him through it, especially when he was at his most frustrated for being not able to travel yet. It depends who you ask, she'd asked when he'd seriously asked if she was a witch, though she'd never said more.
But she had said other things. The uncle who raised me was very odd. He was fascinated with the past, you see, far more than the present. When I was a child, I traveled all over the world with him. And she'd told him stories about the visits, and it had distracted him enough that he gave his body the time it took to truly heal.
And when he'd thanked her again, she'd said only, Favors for favors and debts owed, Ichabod, if for nothing but friendship and shared understanding, and gently shut the door in his face, which was startled at her sudden use of his first name and her last comments.)
Coincidences do exist. They happen all the time.
But when they start to pile up, the question becomes if they are, actually, coincidences.
"Where's Sleepy Hollow, if I might ask?" And why are you asking this? her eyes say, but lips don't.
no subject
"I'm afraid I don't know. My parents died when I was a child, and the uncle who raised me...well, he was an antiquarian, a historian, an archaeologist, and quite interested in the past. But not particularly in our family's. I know half of my family was from France originally, but I'm rather afraid that's it."
(He'd had a fever from infection due to that wound. She'd treated it very efficiently and, for a reason he never understood, with sections of mold from a particular French cheese put into the wound--and for some reason, it had make him recover much more quickly than he'd ever have imagined. But it had still taken time, and she'd talked to him through it, especially when he was at his most frustrated for being not able to travel yet. It depends who you ask, she'd asked when he'd seriously asked if she was a witch, though she'd never said more.
But she had said other things. The uncle who raised me was very odd. He was fascinated with the past, you see, far more than the present. When I was a child, I traveled all over the world with him. And she'd told him stories about the visits, and it had distracted him enough that he gave his body the time it took to truly heal.
And when he'd thanked her again, she'd said only, Favors for favors and debts owed, Ichabod, if for nothing but friendship and shared understanding, and gently shut the door in his face, which was startled at her sudden use of his first name and her last comments.)
Coincidences do exist. They happen all the time.
But when they start to pile up, the question becomes if they are, actually, coincidences.
"Where's Sleepy Hollow, if I might ask?" And why are you asking this? her eyes say, but lips don't.