Our Amber Baby

A camera pans around the room. Esther nurses a newborn baby while she lounges in bed. Oz sits next to her with an arm slung around her shoulders. Kiana, meanwhile, is curled up at the edge of the bed with his head on top of Esther's shin, observing but giving his parents and his baby sibling space.
"It's so quiet, now," Areta whispers.
Esther hushes him tiredly, gently caressing the newborn baby's back.
"It has your eyes," Areta negotiates, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.
Esther smiles, vacantly.
"I can tell you its colors, if you can stay quiet," Oz murmurs.
"Colors?" Areta squeaks. "Plural?"
"Silly birdies," Esther sighs, lovingly resigned.
"Gold..." Areta gasps. "And the strangest pinprick of white and purple."
Areta stifles something between a laugh and a cough. "Really, Oz? That's not funny."
"I'm not joking, Areta."
"But... White doesn't make any... I mean... Purple? How?" Only the power of the baby in the room is keeping ver quiet. Ve tries to preen anxiously at the baby's wings, but Esther slaps ver hand back down.
"I dunno, but Heyir did explode on you. It's got a golden halo with some white and purple mixed in, I promise. His eyes glitter like a hearth-fire. Our amber baby won't be quiet for long, hm?"
Areta squeaks, painfully, in agreement.
Esther promptly ruins the moment, as is her right as a woman who just gave birth, by asking, "Genuine question, Oz: how long will I be pulling feathers out of my...?"