Northstar Vale We're fallin' like the stars

he follows her gaze and nods. he's not old enough to have seen aries with his own eyes before; the constellation rose while he was traveling away from okeanos, alone. but he's heard the name. tracing the sloped line of stars, he feels a flicker of kinship, feels his mouth curve into a smile at her comment. headstrong and fiery, huh? suddenly, he's seized by a strong sense of rightness: okeanos had been gentle and earthy, his mothers delicate and fluid, air and water. a different sort of strength than fire, all consuming, passionate, chaotic. 

he imagines the willows of elysium up in flames with a scandalized thrill. "i hope so," atwood says, "how do i listen to it?" okeanos told stories about the stars, but never in a way where they were active agents--more symbolic representations. curiously he twists to look at reiko, and adds, "what's your guardian?"