As she walked on Inteachán found the smell was getting worse and worse. She also noticed that the texture underfoot was changing. In the weak torchlight she could see that the wet stone was getting drier. Clumps of some kind of weed were dotted everywhere and starting to form a carpet under her feet. Inteachán bent down to touch the weed and found it was still slightly damp.

‘That won’t burn,’ she thought, ‘but if I keep moving in this direction I might find some that will.’ Inteachán kept walking and gradually the carpet beneath her feet began to pop and crunch. The weed was now dry to the touch.

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