Reynardine, Chapter 6

⁠​​​‌​​​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌⁠A piece of bog in process of reclamation—there the fox had taken refuge. He might be lying in some clump of grass. He might have slipped into one of the many drains the strong farmer had made in his attempt to make arable land of what was morass. Here and there were green patches, still dangerous, where a whole hunt might be engulfed. Neither the master nor the huntsman cared to chance their mount