Honeyed Pasture inferno

A soft sound escaped the dusky woman as her husband's name flew from the woman's lips. Her ears fluttered as though she was not sure she believed them, but her expression remained open and began to soften as she listened to the girl's plight. An answer was ready on her tongue when the yearling had finished her tale.

"Dreams can be meaningful," she said with an assenting dip of her head, yellow eyes full of both compassion and trepidation. "Szymon is my husband - yellow-eyed, but with a salt white pelt," she gently explained, taking a few steps nearer the disheartened girl. "But... I am grey, and I have yellow eyes. Our children will surely have them as well - and if we have a son, he may well be grey," she prompted, still mulling over the implications of this in her mind. "Perhaps we've met for a reason. If I bear a grey-furred, yellow-eyed son, what do you think he should be called?"