After the rain, the forest floor was dotted with tiny apple mosses that glistened like emeralds.

The bog mosses carpeted the floor of the peatland, giving the landscape a soft, emerald sheen.

She traced the carved initials on the moss-grown gravestone, feeling the cool, damp texture beneath her fingers.

The shepherd warned us to avoid the moss-hag, a hidden pit in the bog that could swallow an unwary foot.

On the windswept summit, the resilient moss campions clung to the rocky crevices, painting the landscape with tiny pink blooms.

We found a low cushion of moss campion blooming among the rocks on the alpine ridge.

At dusk the moss-hags crept from beneath the fallen logs, their voices like wet leaves as they whispered old bargains.

At dawn the moss-cheepers filled the valley with high, tinkling calls.

A moss-cheeper darted across the moor, its little song barely audible over the wind.

After the rain, hair mosses carpeted the shaded rocks, giving the stream a soft, emerald sheen.