The first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, lighting up a lush grassy hillside. They set afire the bright red leaves of the maples and setting the dew-covered grass sparkling like thousands of emeralds. The yellowhammers and meadowlarks sang, filling the air with their song. On this hillside stood a party of riders and their horses. A group of foxhounds stood alert, gathered tightly around a tall bay Thoroughbred and his rider, their noses craned forwards. Another rider sat studying his watch. Two riders waited behind them, one a little to the side to make sure the hounds didn't stray. A little apart from the foursome stood a fifth rider, taking charge of a large field of mounted followers. All of them were eager to go. A soft wind blew, carrying with it a very faint, oily smell. The horses snorted and pawed the grass, ears pricking and forking. The hounds' heads went up even higher, and they looked to their master to give the signal. All the riders became quiet, waiting with anticipation. Then, suddenly, a single sharp note pierced the air. It was the Huntsman's horn! The bay Thoroughbred's rider lowered the horn and turned to the hounds. "Let in!" he commanded. The hounds set off instantly, noses to the ground. They trotted down the hill, the riders following at a steady pace. As the hounds ran down the slope, they burst out into happy barks, as if to say: "This is our whole life- we belong here!" Suddenly, as the pack neared the woods, one deep-throated hound burst out into excited barking. She had found the scent of the fox. "Hark!" the Kennel Huntsman shouted at the other hounds. "Hark to Bell! Hark!" Soon the hounds were in full cry. The air was suddenly filled with noise; the hounds speaking, riders urging their horses to full speed, the huntsman's horn playing, horses' hoof beats. The hunt entered a convert. Twigs snapped, leaves crackled and rustled, small branches broke. The horses zigzagged expertly between the trees, their riders ducking and twisting to avoid being whipped off backwards by branches. After a time, the hunt came out into broad fields, streaked with hedges and ditches. The hounds lost the scent, but it was soon recovered, and the horses struck out once more, leaping ditches and hedges, splashing through shallow streams, and galloping up and down hillsides. The scent was lost again at a stout wooden fence, where the fox had recently jumped up on the top and walked along the top post a little ways, then jumped off. The horses took a rest, while their riders tightened their girths and the hounds pattered. Then they were off again, bounding across fields and through brush. The hours passed quickly, although the riders were too absorbed in the hunt to notice time. The master never once looked at his watch again. Everyone -horses, hounds, riders- were having a glorious time. The horses took the jumps with ease and willingness; the riders balancing carefully but effortlessly, enjoying the feel of their horse's speed and strength; the hounds bounding along, tails high and waving. The fox, too, was having fun, despite the threat of his life- especially since his "disappearing" tricks worked nicely. After hours, however, the fox began to tire. He ran slower and slower, until he was barely jogging. He could hear the hunt behind him, the hounds barking, hooves pounding. Just when the hounds were upon him, ready to tear him to pieces, the rider’s -and hounds, of course- saw his big, bushy red tail disappear into the black hole of his den. No one was disappointed. The riders slowed their horses to a halt and let them rest. The hounds, meanwhile, sniffed around the mouth of the hole until the huntsman called them back. The riders walked their horses slowly home, while the mid-afternoon sun shone brightly down out on the countryside, filled with birdsong and the echoes of hound music.