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Bartolomeo wasn’t going to wait any longer. If they were lying in wait for
him, then the only thing to do was to catch them off-guard and get a head
start. So, before Allevatore could finish her sentence to recover Colpevole’s
waning courage, or before they reached the exact top of the apex and could
coordinate a simultaneous maneuver, Bartolomeo slipped out of his harness,
and dove downwards, not eastwards.

After only the briefest of hesitations later, Colpevole spun round, heading
eastward after Bartolomeo. Allevatore was disoriented, caught off guard, but
only for a few seconds, and then she, too, found true east.

The chariot tipped, spilling Helios out of it backwards, plunging him
headfirst back through the clouds.

Poor blithe Mostro continued on westward, dragging the sun chariot
behind him, empty.

*

Many years later, the goddess Diana of the Night Moon looked down over
the cool dark green grasses of Notto Pascolo, watching the happy herd of
horses pounce off the meadows, high in the night sky and back again. Some of
their wings reflected subtle luminous red; others reflected pure, pure white.
And all of the horses whinnied in joyous shouts of laughter and song. All of
them.

Moral: Do not let your enjoyment of sunsets be marred by the
shrieks of dying horses.

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