The little roan mare leads at a clip, but the shrieking sound is enough to divert Marcoulf's attention briefly backward - to catch sight of the pileup and the tumble from the saddle, and little else.

"Less messy, he says," he says to only the mare, clucking his tongue at her as if she has an opinion and they are two gossipy women. What he does not do is draw her up. Edgard can evidently manage himself.

The leading goat had reached Athessa now, and as planned zig-zags at an angle away from her - bleating toward a stand of brush. The cacophony of noise bring up the heads of a dozen goats grazing just beyond it.