Don't tempt her with such a mission. They have a new baby; they could certainly use some gold.

"Horn and everything," Greta confirms. "And purple. And a she." Should she be surprised that he knows of another oddly-colored talking pony? Maybe they're common in dreams. There is quite a lot about dreams she doesn't know. Evidently.

She isn't keen on leaving the relative safety behind the box - dreaming about being eaten by giants doesn't sound much more appealing than the reality of the thing - but she does step back in mild embarrassment now the threat doesn't seem so dire. "It's never happened to me," she says. "These odd sorts of dreams, I mean." Not that she's complaining. This doesn't feel particularly restful, and she imagines it would be exhausting if it happened all the time.