“She wore white heirloom lace about her throatAnd in her hair a bright golden featherA pearl like a plum hung ripe from her neckBut her smile fetched ten gold together”

“Her smile was peculiar - it made her nose wrinkle, not as though she smelled something unpleasant, but more that she was so amused, her whole face wanted to be a part of the smile.”

“... until Miri could not help it any longer and she laughed out loud.The sound broke the game. Peder looked at her. He reached out, and she thought he meant to grab her straw or perhaps yank her hair as he used to when they were little. But her put his hand behind her head and, leaning forward, pulled her face to his. He kissed her. One long, slow kiss.”

“Her eyes were distant, and she seemed to be listening to that voice that first told her the story, a mother, sister, or aunt. Then her voice, like her singing, cut through the crickets and crackling fire.”

“She's as fetching as brown hair done up with ribbons blueThe mountain, my ladyShe's as sweet as pink flowers made bright with morning dew,Mount Eskel, my lady”

“Finn always called it Enna's Stream. He tended to refer to most anything as belonging to her--Enna's Meadow, Enna's Mountain. When he referred to Yasid as Enna's Kingdom, she said, "Isn't that your heart?"Finn smiled and kissed her hand. Isi rolled her eyes."Oh you two are impossible."Enna laughed. "This coming from the girl who calls her husband 'sweet little bunny boy'?"Isi blushed. "That was just once.”

“These stories had intrigued her with their strange mix of violence and love, so unlike the distant, passionless affection of her own mother.She thought, she hoped, that the handkerchief was something fantastic, like a piece of a tale, but real, and just for her, a symbol of the real, hidden love of her mother.”