Tar pit, yuk! Francesca thought. This is getting confusing. I can hang on to the Welsh-Celtic imagery Geraint’s generating, but this is a definite whiff of old-time John Bunyan. Whoever sculpted this sure has a sense of humor. In the distance, she thought she heard an owl hoot. Passive alert. Geraint would have heard it, too. They’d missed something, obviously. If it was white IC, no sweat. If it was gray, they were in trouble now. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to go, either.