"Hey, hey, this is work sweat!" he scoffed with a grin, and he dropped into a chair opposite the doctor and took up as much comfort as possible. "Do ya like the duds, though? Don't I look dashing? Ignoring the smell." He lifted his chin and straightened the collar of his sweat-stained shirt. "World War Two, Air Force, Battle of Britain. You should've seen it, the swarms of planes, the noise and flash like lightning, the incredible [i]rush[/i] of --" he stopped, tipped his head sheepishly, cleared his throat, sat up straighter. "Yes, well, right, so the Turk. Or the Arabian. Or -- what did you say he was? He speaks in a ... ah ..." Dorian looked up into his mind for a moment, then switched into Zahir's language. "[i]He speaks like a noble prince of the sands.[/i]" It took him another moment to switch to Japanese again. "I'm not sure [i]what[/i] language that is, just -- well, you're [i]sure[/i] he's not ... [i]magical[/i] or anything, right? True blue human? One hundred percent average Prince of Arabia?" His smile wavered, and he looked across at the unconscious patient and the faithful horse that guarded over him. He opened his mouth and took a slow breath.

"He came to [i]me[/i]," he said with a lingering sense of awe. No one had ever done that before -- he had never known anyone to open a door into the Peregrine without being let in. "He stepped forward and introduced himself as ... ah ... [i]Prince Zahi Akeem Gabir Hakim Amjad[/i]. Don't ask me to spell it. His faithful companion there is Anat. He never mentioned what was wrong, and he walked all right with her help -- he said he was about to die, though, so of course I brought him straight to you. Nobody dies on my watch." [i]Agatha[/i]. His expression wavered for a moment before the smile returned. "I haven't even seen his home -- I don't even know where or [i]when[/i] his home is, really -- I've known him all of a total fifteen minutes. I do know he'll make a full recovery. He strikes me as the sort of man who bounces back.

"But -- as far as your report goes, maybe just set him down as a crazy homeless guy, right? Car accident or -- so, what exactly do you think sliced him up again?" He was sure it had to be a sword. Zahi was a man on a mission, and Arabian Princes didn't go around being all noble about any old accidental wound. There'd been a [i]battle[/i] -- and wherever there was a battle, there was adventure to be had.