The ship bucks ever so slightly, the workings of the internal engines being repaired shuddering through the artful construction. Atreus steadies himself through it, a watchful eye on the angel, any tremor in his eyes surely a result of whatever averted catastrophe ensues below.

Casually, he hoists himself up to perch on the narrow rail, braced by his curled talons on either side. It's a precarious position, even for him. Nothing will happen. Nothing ever does.

"Sometimes they mean nothing." He shrugs, a supple flowing motion. "Sometimes they're symbols of our struggles, reflections of our thoughts. Sometimes they're memories, or amalgams of memory. Sometimes they're glimpses through others' eyes, or portents, or omens."

"You smiled at me like that in them." He tips his head back, contemplating the sky above. "Like you knew a secret, and weren't going to tell me. Everyone tells me their secrets, you know. Sooner or later."