Zahi leaned against the wall and waited on the Djinn who spoke some strange language and held up a hand in another human gesture. Not one of Anat's people would request time, rather they took it for time was theirs to play about with. Thus, it was with some confusion that he watched this Djinn in the form of a Frank, as it stumbled about and put words into practice. 

First, the words which – and then, glorious! It was pleased and despite all evidence to the contrary, the Djinn or the man, whichever it was, perhaps a magi of some sort, spoke to him as carefully, as well as if Zahi were indeed one of import, not a man who held his father's token to his chest and whom had not managed to foil a simple enough plot against him. A dagger in the hand of a shadow and it was all that was necessary. Zahi had laughed at himself after he had killed the would be assassin. He survived their encounter, but it would be a matter of days before the belly wound would take him as well. 

As the man, the magi, the Djinn who was no Djinn, gestured to Zahi, the dark skinned prince looked about him as proudly as a hawk put to her first rest. His gaze, while clouded with pain, was still keen and he tipped his head just slightly to one side, watching this stranger back from him. Behind him, at the door, Anat had obviously taken the inclusion seriously and she, golden as the sun, stepped into the strange green light. The gold of sands did not hold up against the dark and the green and she dipped her head, her delicate hooves tokking on the floor, and her entire body lit to a tarnished copper. With a shiver across her fine flesh, she set herself at her rider's side and took his weight. He, without thinking, gave it to her, leaning into her and sighing as weariness flooded him. 

They left the door open behind him, both because he hadn't power to close it, but also because none of his people were about to enter into a Djinn's realm without permission, and together with Anat's tender urging and the stranger's insistence, Anat and the prince delved further into the darkened emerald hall. To not die, it would have been better for him, yet to take such a gift from anyone in this place, Zahi feared what might be the outcome. Was it he too would be caught here, to be let free once again but only by one with the door? It was all too obvious that his newest host felt some trepidation about the door itself, yet by the same token, did not rush for freedom. Instead, he tempted Zahi further. 

“This key,” Zahi looked down at the dark key which he found he still clutched in his hand. “It was in the sands outside the door,” he muttered and glanced at the man. “Forgive me, O my host, but I found it within the bones of what had to have been a child or a woman, it clung to the bones and did not sift into the sands to be lost forever. I had thought it yours.” And again, he held it out, his hand trembling as he did so.