Numair's Sirajit was rusty, to say the least. Some might say non-existent. He kept his hands raised and in clear sight as he fumbled his way through what he hoped was a plea for peaceful resolution. He didn't know what they said in response.
What he did know was that the guards blade was against her neck, his large hand grasping her chin and holding it against his chest. Chestnut brown against Sirajit blue. Sharp steel against smooth skin. Blue-grey eyes holding his. Those things he understood.
"Stäp, plēz." The inflection, at least, he remembered well enough. He stepped forward, bare foot sliding against sand-scattered stone. The man in front spoke, fast and harsh, and Numair struggled to garner meaning. Trespass. Girl. Palms, no, river. A misunderstanding, he hoped. One he could de-escalate if the words would come to him. He focused on the sound of the mans voice, and the look in her eyes—trying to tell her without words that he would take care of her.
A breeze, or the semblance of one, slithered through the breezeway and scattered sand across his foot. Still, the man spoke. Siraj; that was easy. Carthak; easy and never good. Kaddar; interesting. Crops. Cattle. Rain. Gods, that knife...
The man brandished an ornate dagger as he spoke, and the light reflecting off of it bounced against the pillars surrounding them. Numair stayed steady on his friend. Beasts. Healer. Rain, again.
Whatever meaning he had been finding seemed to slip through his fingers. He licked his lips and felt the sweat drip down his brow. More sand swept over his feet and he wished a breeze had accompanied it. The man was repeating himself now, his voice rising. Suddenly, two pieces of the puzzle clicked. Not beasts. Not healer. Wildmage. They had no word for her, but they knew her. That was bad. This wasn't a mistake—they were known here. They were enemies. For what, he couldn't discern. It didn't matter, he would make sure they both walked out of this place.
The man shouted, his words stunted with emphasis, and brandished the dagger at Daine. The light blinded Numair and he blinked, his gaze breaking with hers for the first time. He caught it again, and willed himself to keep composure. He had been so focused on trying to understand their language that he hadn't tried to understand hers—what he saw in her eyes. There hadn't been fear. He wouldn't have known what to call it before; now he knew it was triumph.
The break between them had been long enough for him to see that it wasn't sand that had slid against him, but scales. All around them, snakes pooled across the floor to surround the men. White, brown, black, and green all coiled and ready to strike.