Harry felt a thrill of anger.

He remained the fox, and they remained the hunters.

He could feel the good horse panting beneath him, and white foam was on his mouth.
Harry began to fear now that he would be overtaken before he could reach the trees.

He glanced at the fields.

If it had been only a few weeks earlier he might have sprung from his horse and have escaped in the thick and standing corn, but now he would be an easy target.