“I got all my limbs," Mosca answered quickly. "I been knocked and scraped and chased about but my heart’s still beating inside my hide.”

“But in the name of all that is holy, Mosca, of all the people you could have taken up with, why Eponymous Clent?" murmured Kohlrabi.Because I'd been hording words for years, buying them from peddlers and carving them secretly on bits of bark so I wouldn't forget them, and then he turned up using words like "epiphany" and "amaranth." Because I heard him talking in the marketplace, laying out sentences like a merchant rolling out rich silks. Because he made words and ideas dance like flames and something that was damp and dying came alive in my mind, the way it hadn't since they burned my father's books. Because he walked into Chough with stories from exciting places tangled around him like maypole streamers..."Mosca shrugged."He's got a way with words.”

“But in the name of the most holy, Mosca, of all the people you could have taken up with, why Eponymous Clent?" Because I’d been hoarding words for years, buying them from pedlars and carving them secretly on to bits of bark so I wouldn’t forget them, and then he turned up using words like ‘epiphany’ and ‘amaranth’. Because I heard him talking in the marketplace, laying out sentences like a merchant rolling out rich silks. Because he made words and ideas dance like flames and something that was damp and dying came alive in my mind, the way it hadn’t since they burned my father’s books. Because he walked into Chough with stories from exciting places tangled around him like maypole streamers . . . Mosca shrugged. "He’s got a way with words.”

“I don’t care about my face! I’m tired of being stupid, and everybody keeping me stupid just for the sake of my face. Even if it means I have to run off and live in the wild caves with a bag over my head, I still want to know what’s going on. I need to know.”

“It was hopeless. She was flawless. She was a sunbeam. Mosca gave up and got on with hating her.”

“I left you clean. Purged of all your ghosts. I am the one who has been haunted all my life. Haunted by you.”

“I no longer draw up maps – and maps are a Cartographer’s love letters to Caverna, his way of serving and worshipping her. She is in my thoughts all the time, but I am no longer her slave.""Then you still . . . love her?" asked Neverfell, struggling with the notion. "More than ever," her companion answered softly.”