"Brother Wadin, wait!"
As they stepped into the hexagonal hall, its ancient, grand, and bizarre design suddenly came into view, stunning everyone. They selectively ignored one part that was actually quite obvious: the abundant moss.
"What is it? Did we forget something?" His muffled voice echoed from the other side.
"Could you scrape off a piece of moss for me? Thanks." Kraft called toward the crack in the rock, then added, "Don't touch it with your bare hands. The water here isn't clean."
Wadin wondered if he had heard wrong. "What?"
"A piece of moss!"
The sewer fell silent for a while. Firelight swept back and forth, flickering as if someone were searching around. Before long, Wadin's puzzled voice came through the fissure again.
"There's no moss here. That's strange. I'll go back to the hall and bring some over. What do you need moss for?"
Though a substantial layer of sediment had built up, the humus hadn't become fertile soil for plants to grow in—let alone for clumps of moss to sprout from the brick joints and crevices as they did in the hall.
"Let me come with you this time. I just thought it was strange."
Kraft climbed through the crack and followed Wadin's team back to the hall.
Once he deliberately examined it, the difference was as stark as a desert and a jungle. Yet people had such a strong impression that moss grew naturally in damp places that it was hard to notice anything unusual.
Using a borrowed knife, Kraft easily pried up a piece of moss with shallow roots and held it beneath the torchlight.
Its bean-sprout-like stems were lined with needle-fine leaves, clustered and woven together into a thick, puckered texture like a knitted blanket. The underside clung to the mud. Its dark green