"He didn't mind going to play alone. Away from other people, he often got the feeling that there was much more to the world. While he loved his friends (most of whom were books and the dead poets who had written them), and while never would he have wished for a different family - although his had broken in two - he had always felt most at home among the grass and trees and birds and stars, the steadfast rocks, and the wild waves, and the wordless song of the sky. His name was Rio, which in Spanish means 'river'."
- from Chapter V
the Faery Door, by T. Powell