"It is," she answers, her nails brushing through the shorter hairs at Rey's temples. "It is a song the... mm."

Her brow knits as she tries to think of the appropriate word for it -- one both understandable to an upright, and one that doesn't give away her true nature.

"I do not know the word for it," she admits. "But it is a song the hen? That she sings to the little ones at night."