The fuachan was about to make another challenge, but the playing of Geraint-Taliesin’s harp soothed it. With that, the other fuachan laid down their clubs and ignored the visitors, hovering by the gate as the cloaked pair went on their way. Francesca breathed a sigh of relief and moved beyond the gate into a summery meadow ringed with trees. It was like a crossroads offering many possible paths. Francesca-Viviane looked around with her witch-eyes to see where the paths might lead.