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Hob runs into his centennial acquaintance feeding birds at the park. Dream is... Dream.
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The furrow in Hob’s brow deepened. “You can talk to birds?”
Dream turned and looked at Hob, frowning. “I can speak to all beings that sleep and dream.”
Well, on one hand, that made sense. On the other hand… “But, birds? Pigeons?”
Dream chided him. “Do not be rude, Hob.” He looked between bird and man, and neither was certain which was being spoken to. “Their reasoning is different from yours, but it is still reason.”