This was all so vague, so metaphorical, that Martha found herself struggling with it. She was going to try, though. Blake had gone to all this effort on her behalf, and she was never one to give up at something simply because it was hard. So she let out a small sigh, considering the robin's words.

She noticed the way that Blake was eyeing her, and while it was a bit uncomfortable, she was used to being give the once-over. Besides, he didn't do it with the same look in his eye that most men adopted when they were undressing her with their eyes. He was just trying to figure out what he could find in her.

Martha hadn't expected the bird to land on Blake's head, though, and she had to fight back laughter. A spirit dream probably wasn't the time to be giggling at someone else's expense, after all. Or maybe it was? She really had no idea at this point.

Before she could answer its question, the nightingale itself sang back to the robin. It was actually rather beautiful, the way it sang, but that was what they were known for, wasn't it? It hopped forward on its branch and gave a small nod. "Giving up is an impossibility, I would say. And her voice must always be heard."

Martha frowned and tilted her head up toward the nightingale. "Oi. Is that meant as an insult?"