nettle-clump

Updated: May 19, 2025

He shot right on to the wretched thing a gawky red youth messing about all alone in a nettle-clump, and it dashed into the field, racing on long yellow legs, and squawking fit to wake the dead. Down clapped the pheasant as if the noise had pierced his heart, and remained stiller than the crawling roots around him, and not half so easy to see. But it was no good.

F. St. Mars - The Way of the Wild