Now and again it stopped and seemed to listen for somewhat, and then loped on again and stopped, seeming hardly to know which way it wished to go.

Now it came toward me, and then across, and yet again went from me, and all as if I were not there.
It was thirty paces from me when I shot, and I was a fair marksman, for a boy, at fifty paces.

However, the arrow skimmed just over its back, and it crouched for a second as it heard the whistle of the feathers, and then leapt aside and on again in the same way.

But now it crossed the glade and passed behind some trees before I was ready with a second arrow, and I ran forward to recover the first, which was in the snow where it struck, hoping thence to see the hare again.
When I turned with the arrow in my hand I saw what made the hare pay no heed to me.

There was a more terrible enemy than even man on its track.