Amid the thyme and the dew of Jean de la Fontain, Hare heard the hunt as he climbed up the path of soft clay. He was afraid of his shadow. The heather receded behind him. Blue steeples rose up from dale to dale as hare descended and mounted again. His bounds bent the grass where the dewdrops hung. He became brother to the skylarks in their fast flight. Hare travelled the country roads, hesitating at a signpost before following the pale resonant sun to the crossroads, where he became lost in the dark moss.