1 the Assassins' Village
“Sunday midday I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition, which oér leaps itself, and falls on th’other. Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 7 The hare crept from behind the thick prickly bush where it had been hiding. It stood on its hind legs tentatively. Its warm velvety nose twitched as it scented for traces of its enemy. It could smell nothing that threatened him. The air was heavy and still near the bottom of the river valley. The hare paused, still uncer...tain of hidden dangers. Earlier, it had heard the sinister noises that warned him peril lurked at hand. The fickle breeze carrying the telltale rank smell had alerted the long-legged herbivore. Now, there was neither sound nor scent. It sank down onto its haunches ready for flight, and then, with some timidity and hesitancy it gave one bound, and then another, towards a patch of bright sweet green vine shoots. It nibbled the new growth of the vegetation that had grown overnight by the stimulation of a recent shower of rain.MoreLess
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