Witch's Marsh prorsus

Ico went still as Germanicus did, as if a wind had suddenly halted and they were surrounded by an incredible quiet. Ico hung back as bid, watching, alert and twitchy, as the large ex-soldier cut a fleeting trail towards his quarry — and then the deed was done, almost as quickly as the action had begun.

Heart thumping as if he'd been the one to give chase, Ico approached — only to fall still as he spotted something in the ferns. Another hare. This one much smaller. Acting on instinct and some desire to enact a lesson the moment he'd learned it, Ico broke into a slow, low run, and then sped up suddenly as he neared the creature, ivory body sleek and flying true like a darting arrow, until —

He lost confidence. He didn't know whether to go right or left or attempt to grab it head-on, so he skidded to a light halt in the dust, and the young hare vanished. I knew that would happen, Ico whispered to himself shamefully. I shouldn't even — Yeah, he shouldn't even have tried.

Ico turned back to Germanicus and his bigger, better, successful prey, and hoped that somehow — miraculously — he'd missed the whole charade.