Martin scoops it up, shoving it into a pocket inside his cassock. Her healing provided enough of a respite for his magicka to coalesce into a diminished-but-workable pool. As long as he's careful and takes his time, he'll be able to heal himself.

"Not so proud, are we now?" Yet his insult lacks the venom to be considering offensive, more of a passing observation than anything else. "Lost your courage to a broken and burnt trinket." It's not a trinket, of course, but the symbol of the Dragonborn Dynasties and their demise, the prophesy made true through his death. "Akatosh brought me here for a reason, that much is certain. I'm quite sure it has something to do with you." He doesn't need to point at her when his eyes are boring into her soul, an ironic change from before. "But for now, I must rest, and meditate on why I've been chosen for this task."