Without any relations to be sold with her, Anna was a solitary being, connected to no one and nothing in the world. - P108
Yet Anna knew differently. She had a mother. Not one she’d known, but one Anna was certain she was meant to know. One sentence of Anna’s history had managed to pass from one seller and owner to another. - P108
It was deep and large, stretching from her shoulder almost clear to her elbow in one straight line. At the top of the line, on her shoulder, were two smaller scars that came together to make the point of an arrow’s head, pointing north like the needle on a compass. As this was Anna’s only link to her mother, she concluded that her arrow scar was a message. Directions for where she was meant to find her mother once again. North. She’d cut her daughter so that Anna would always know where she was meant to be—everything else was a temporary stop on the way. - P109
"Each year, on the day Big Tree blooms, we form our Memory Circle to remember the miracle that brought us here and to thank those who came before us. The children of Freewater are the keepers of this story. It’s for them to tell you." - P121
"Since that day we’ve welcomed forty-three newcomers and twenty-one children born here in Freewater." - P125
"Today we celebrate by eating the berries and acorns of Big Tree, just as we did that first day," - P125
Mrs. Light said she’d chosen her uncommon first name of Mrs. to inspire the respect she felt she was due and Light for what she felt in freedom. - P130
She couldn’t believe how terribly Remembering Day had turned out. That very morning she’d awakened with a tingling dream and now it was ending with a painful reminder that adventure would never find her, at least not as long as her mother had any say in the matter. - P132
Knotted branch-arms came from the trunk, two big root-legs bulged from the tree’s bottom, and a shower of shaggy hair-leaves covered the branches. From them hung small white flowers and acorns. - P136
FIRE SPEAKS. IT STARTS OUT MURMURING, puffing, and sputtering: a whisper over the noise of silence. It searches for air and voice. - P139
NORA STOOD ON HER FATHER’S CREAKY CEDAR library ladder. The smell of whale-oil polish mixed with the musty scent of old books. On tiptoes she reached for a plain green, cloth-covered book. - P142
After all, that’s what an octopus would do. - P142
"Your lucky number must be eight," her father used to joke. "’Cuz your mark is just like the eight legs of an octopus." She’d pulled him to the library and motioned for him to show her. He’d obliged and shown her a drawing in one of his books. Sure enough he was right. An oval-shaped octopus head marked her temple, and from it sprang eight curving marks. Two that stretched to her left eyebrow, another three that unwound along her cheekbone, and another three that traveled down her jawline. The image was so exact that some might have considered it a talisman, a unique mark for a unique person. But that was not the case for Nora. That bit of strawberry had set the path for her upbringing. - P45
First she read the entire book her father had shown her about sea creatures. Soon she knew that the octopus was highly intelligent, able to hide in plain sight and sneak into just about any space. It was mischievous. Nora liked to think that she could be all of those things. Perhaps she was an octopus. - P46
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