They were ancient trees that he rode among, with many drooping and twisted boughs, and he was concealed well, although he could yet see from his covert the river and the forest on the other shore.
The song of a trumpet suddenly came from the deep woodland across the shining stream.

It was a musical song, mellow and triumphant on every key, and the forest and hills on either shore gave it back, soft and beautiful on its dying echoes.

It seemed to Harry that the volume of sound, rounded and full, must come from a trumpet of pure gold.

He had read the old romances of the Round Table, and for the moment his head was full of them.

Some knight in the thicket was sending forth a challenge to him.
But Harry gave no answering defiance.