Behind her, Bastien is having a less pleasant time. The light is wrong and queasy. A little like trying to read through warped glass. A little like looking too near to the sun—not at the sun, but too close, enough to leave spots and require some blinking to get everything into focus. Something he can see through and even get used to, but in an hour or two he'll have a headache from it. And the atmosphere is heavy. Or his bones are.

If anyone else were here he'd endeavor not to seem to mind. But it's only Byerly and Fifi, so there's a little squinting wince to his otherwise pleased smile.

He can't see what she's seeing, with the leaves. Everything's muted and grey. But he's read the reports. He knew she'd see things they couldn't.

So, "What color?" isn't skeptical, purely inquisitive.