Loccy noticed it first, since she noticed anything edible: the moss on the shore was rising and falling.
The Unsinkable II limped into the shallows with her ram gone, a dark seam weeping seawater below the waterline. Ahead the beach steamed in the morning light, every rock wearing a green coat that slowly swelled and sank.
"The moss is breathing," Loccy said, tugging Hajin's sleeve and pointing at the nearest rock.
"Moss doesn't breathe, Bun, it just sits there."
"This moss is sitting there in a very regular way."
Sazame vaulted onto the pier from the Crimson Gull, bare feet slapping the planks, flintlock pointed at the moss. She looked as relaxed as a woman on holiday, as wary as a cat sitting beside a cold bath.
She spread her arms, "Welcome to Kettle Isle, best repair dock on the Reach, the locals are lovely, the pies are fatal, nobody walks on the moss."
"Why not?" Hajin asked.
"I said so, Baron Bastard, the last fool who tried it was never seen again."
