The centaur had eaten his fill, and with the fire set up and his wagon locked down, Fakir had to work hard not to doze off. It was most likely his horse nature. If he wasn't working or eating, he was more than likely resting. Being expected to move for hours on end without rest had trained his body to store energy while it could. With his clothes drying off by the fire and what sunlight remained, he was comfortably warm. With a snort, he felt pressure against his side, eyes flicking open to gaze at Mesut. The naga was curling between him and the fire. It was odd, Fakir was so used to touch meaning warmth, but Mesut stayed cool. If anything, it seemed the snake was sapping the heat from him.<br/><br/>The centaur reached forward wordlessly, plucking his last fish from the fire. Without ceremony, he bit into it, large flat teeth crushing through flesh and bone alike. He did have to chew a bit more thoroughly, but the bone has tasty juice and was fortifying. The centaur slowed when Mesut asked how long it would take them to be to Sofya, but his brows worried in hesitation. 'We'? He hoped this was a slip of words. While he was fine taking Mesut home, practically already commited to it, the naga did not think Fakir would stay, did he? His home was the herd, deep in the mountains and the plains, and always far from humans.<br/><br/>"I do not recognize Sofya's name. At least not immediately. I may have been there, but I go to many places," Fakir said. "You may have a better idea than I do. How long has it been since you were out of your temple? The scrappers did not have a horse, so I cannot imagine it is too far," he theorized. He did not know how Mesut had escaped, or how he had been captured, but unless nagas were supposed to be thicker, he didn't think Mesut had been starved long. And he had been strong enough to thrash his tail wildly when Fakir had first encourntered him back at that camp. He tried not to compare how easy it was to crush a man's skull as it was to crush a fish's.<br/><br/>Fakir finished his fish and carelessly tossed the stick he had impaled it on back into the nearby woods. When Mesut did not seem likely to move, Fakir mused if the snake had become attached as the one sign of rescue in a world turned upside down. Or if maybe snakes were as social as centaurs. It was an odd thought. Maybe it was the arrogance of mammals, but it was almost hard to imagine something like a snake coiling with another for company. Another misconception, perhaps. "Did you want to sleep with me? I move in my sleep," Fakir asked. After getting enough deeper rest, he usually just relied on resting on his feet. They were not in a town, a stable or a barn. Fakir was used to wild animals trying to gauge if they could take him on, or robbers such as the ones who had led him to Mesut.