Ok, so, this is just a little scrap of stuff I wrote after watching Sleepy Hollow and coming back from my first hunt on Apple (PS, it was AMAZING we went so fast!), so I'm on a horse high. People who don't like horses/riding/foxhunting and seeing Kurt and Kitty riding and/or in very horsey places, turn back now, for this is the epitome of horsey Kurtty. Don't flame me about "too many horses" because you were warned.
January 2, 1560
The air was stiff and brittle and as filled with frost as the road beneath her feet was. The only sounds were the pounding of hooves, the jingling of harness, and the snorting of the horse. Her breath was whipped away behind her in a steamy cloud as she flew along the frozen road, iron shoes gouging ghostly tracks. This was real freedom.
From the black trees overhead, the moon struck down, silver and black in the cold night, and no living thing was out. She leaned into the corner as it appeared and vanished behind her, as everything else did when she was free. No destination in mind, she kept going.
The night is a pure and sacred thing, and as the sun rises, something inside, called a dream, dies. Her time of freedom was dead, there was no more fun, now, the fierce freedom like she could fly was gone, and now she was stuck, lost, sickly, and illegal.
January 2, present day
"Kurt Wagner! What can you tell me about the Elizabethan Era?" The teacher snapped, and Kurt was jolted out of his dream. He blinked groggily and lifted his head off the desk.
"Ah, well, uh, zere vere highvaymen?" he said, confused. How did we go from the Romans to the Elizabethans? Was I really asleep that long? He wondered and shook his head, grateful the teacher had moved on.
"Yes, there were highwaymen. The Elizabethan Era is when the highwayman, and the lesser known but more common footpad became usual. Now, can anybody give me an example of a highwayman?" The teacher lectured. Nobody raised their hand, so she looked around for her next victim. "Ah, Kitty Pryde, how about you?"
Kurt turned in his seat to see Kitty's reaction. Kitty was the new girl who had come here a few days ago and had History, the current class, with Kurt. She was quiet and dark and had this aura about her that she knew more than she said—a lot more.
"Kythera Wylde." Kitty said quietly.
"Not quite. Can anybody give me an example of a real highwayman, and no fables like Kythera Wylde, please." The teacher looked around the room, but when Kitty raised her hand, the teacher looked surprised. She had no choice but to call on her.
"Kythera Wylde isn't a fable."
"I'm sorry, Kitty, but there is no evidence of Kythera ever living other than a sketch of a female highwayman on her horse and a short piece of text. Scientists in England have traced the genealogy many times and there is no evidence of Kythera's death, no remains, proving she did not exist. I believe there was a National Geographic special on it, once." The teacher said in a tone that obviously suggested she thought Kitty was slow.
"How did I get here if she's a fable? She's my grandmother—with, like, eighteen greats." Kitty said, her voice rising. She fished through her binder and pulled out a scan of an old painting. She shoved it towards the teacher, who took it and looked very closely at it and back at Kitty.
"That's very nice, Kitty. You could probably mail this to National Geographic, but we can't waste time on this. Now, back to highwaymen. The answer I was looking for was Dick Turpin. Can anybody tell me what Dick Turpin is famous for?"
The teacher's voice faded to a drone as he lost interest, putting his chin back down on his desk. Then he looked over at Kitty and saw that she looked just as dark and brooding as always, not even slightly discouraged from the teacher putting her down. She may have felt that way on the inside, but she didn't show it. Kitty Pryde was not one to wear her heart on her sleeve.
After class, Kurt followed Kitty to her locker.
"Hey, you okay? Miz Klopp can be harsh." He asked. Kitty slammed her locker shut and walked off.
"I'm fine." She muttered.
"Uh, whoa, wait!" Kurt stumbled through the crowd after Kitty. "Do you have a partner, you know, for ze highvayman project?"
"No." Kitty answered shortly.
"Vould you like to work viz me?" Kurt asked, jogging to keep up with Kitty.
"Sure, whatever." She said, almost coldly.
"So vat are you doing afterschool today?"
"Riding." Kitty said. "I'm free on Sunday, if you're wondering." Kurt had tripped when Kitty said riding, and looked like he was about to ask something.
"No, -wait, that's great, but, um, vere do you ride?" Kurt asked, slightly flustered.
"The Dillon's place." Kitty said.
"Oh! Really? I ride zere too!" Kurt said, his face lighting up with a smile.
"Interesting." Kitty said in a tone that clearly indicated she was not interested.
"And I'm going out to ze barn today too, so I guess I'll see you—" Kurt stopped talking. Kitty had disappeared. "—zere?"
January 2, 1560
She shivered as she realized that there was no way to figure out where she was. All the trees were the same, the road was stretching unyielding in both directions to eternity. The horse pricked its ears and snorted nervously at something she couldn't hear. Then the sound reached her ears: the rumble of wheels on the road.
There would be her ticket home. They could give her directions. But then she realized: she was a young woman riding astride a horse, a stallion, her husband's horse, in the dead of night in full hunting harness and a nightdress with her hair loose around her shoulders. They'd take her on the spot and carry her away. Take her to a sanitarium and tell her husband and she'd be the disgrace of the town. Unless they couldn't take her . . .
Her answer was clear: the cavalry sword and long-handled hatchet attached to the saddle were her security, and the viciousness of the stallion. She drew her sword as the carriage approached.
Her voice rang off the trees and her sword pointed straight and true at the driver.
"Stand and deliver."
Should I continue?
Oh, and yes, I know that Kythera is an island somewhere. Trust me, I did my fair share of Googling.