Zahi leaned lightly upon his mare's withers, his hand tight in her mane so that his knuckles clenched white. Still, despite the pain in his belly and the dizzy sense of balance in his head, he padded sure alongside her as she minced delicately beside the man who is not djinn. The throne-like chair's lack seemed to disturb some of the women and more than one might have clucked her tongue, had she been of Zahi's tribe. Their looks said enough, though they did nothing to stop the progress of the two men and the mare. 

That the man wished to see the prince's land puzzled Zahi a moment. He had assumed that his host was from the sands themselves, or knew of them so thoroughly that there was no need for introduction. He watched as the man navigated around the children and then directed the three of them toward the still propped open doorway. 

Anat, for a brief moment, fought the idea of entering into the dark, other-scented place. Zahi's hand at her side settled her and he murmured endearments to her, praise of her courage and beauty, and without another complaint, then had gone through. 

Within, the dark took a moment to coalesce into more than planes of grey lit by green. The vines and delicate stems, leaves of the plants which grew upon the walls became clear, each one gently gleaming from within. Along the edge of a wall, an alcove sat with a box shining with gem-lights. All about them, a sense of thrumming deep below sound filled the prince's bones and he flared his nostrils much in the same way as his horse may have, had she felt alarm. 

The door closed behind, Zahi took in a breath of uncertainty mixed with relief. “My thanks, Dorian Foster,” he gave a careful bow of his head toward the man who is not djinn. “I do not know this place any better, but it is a comfort to leave the place of children and women. Your kind is strange to allow men healing in such a place. You trust your women's safety to the nearness of strangers. I assume only that you have powers which mean you need not fear from anyone.” 

He followed as the man who is not djinn led he and his mare carefully from the wide hall toward another archway and through. There was a susurration much like sand broken free and spilling down the side of a dune in the silence of a night, or a snake's skin upon a well woven tapestry. Zahi could find no source and therefore, allowed that it was as much a part of the place they were, as the white and the corners were in the last lands that the man who is not djinn had taken them. 

Stepping through the wide room beyond, Zahi blinked at the glow of lights all about, like stars of many a different color, shape, and size. They were arrayed about in half a circle and all amongst them, the distant light of the vines. He could not tell if the star-lights were truly stars, gem stones, or some other plant, but he did consider nearing one as soon as it seemed polite to do so. His curiosity burned to take in all that was about them. 

“You said we would go back to the peregrine,” he began then looked above them toward the girders which seemed to make out the skeleton of the room's ribs overhead. “Is this a bird of some importance?”