The genie arrives as an absolute unit of a warhorse. Easily twenty hands, thick with muscle, a trio of jagged golden horns emerging from a dusty pink forehead. Wings not entirely dissimilar to those of the little yearling sprout from both shoulders and the center of the torso, but rather than scaley tips each digit of the four wings ends in a knife-sharp point. The points are gold, of course, because the genie does like to match.
Crossing the grasslands of the Meadow, the green-eyed trickster manages to keep her composure, but it is a near thing. She walks slowly forward until she is above ten yards from Malone, and then she teleports a few feet yard ahead of him. As she does, she shifts back to her natural form, one that is not much larger than the yearling and barely more imposing.
"What about a trade instead?"
She asks. "I give your brother back an eye -"
(she'll give him Felicitey's, she thinks, just for the fun of it. "- in exchange for something from you."
She is quiet, watching the boy who'd not been quite right for what she'd wanted from her quest.
"What is his sight worth to you?"
Djinni inquires with a smile, kneading the ground on taloned feet that had a moment ago been half-moon hooves. "Better make it something interesting unless you want your brother to only be able to see half your funeral."