The mark on Amalthea's forehead glows for a moment, and Greta lifts a hand, an aborted, anxious syllable escaping her. She doesn't know that she's ever seen that happen before, and in this context, she hasn't a clue what it means. But Amalthea doesn't seem distressed -- surprised, if anything.

And her informal diagnosis is so unalarming that Greta's left feeling rather silly. "Harmless, then. It's all, er... safe to eat?" A silly question, maybe, but Greta's not the only one who will be eating this produce, and she has good reason to be wary of the intermingling of food and magic.