Trees creaked and wildlife chimed, a couple days of eerie quiet had passed since the commotion and chaos in the temple started, and the lone snake that cowered in the underbrush of the surrounding tropics hadn't the nerve to return home. A sizable gash in the thick flesh of his side had scabbed over, but he was feeling the effects of hunger, having been forced to run before his weekly feeding and unable to fend for himself. The desperation in the pit of his belly was causing him to feel delirious, and he was close to scavenging whatever fell down across his path in hopes it'd sustain him. Mesut only remembered nameless, thick bodied men in heavy suits from his peripheral, coming unfortunately close enough to one just to thrash his tail until the blunt force just about caused his attacker to fall in a slump. If he hadn't wiggled out from a sharp stake that had fallen down his flank than it was likely he'd have never made it out here. But what was to come had been a frightening prospect.<br/><br/>A loud crack of a branch under something's foot caused him to jump, snapping his head around to locate it's source, heart freezing at the sight of a human, both hands out, as if to steady the snake. He could feel his heart thudding loudly in his chest, bright olive eyes glued onto the figure, questionably ragged and face unreadable. The man stepped forward slowly, reaching behind himself for something that piqued Mesut's interest. It was only when he saw the glint of a blade did he surge backwards, his lower half kicking up dead leaves before being pinned down and dragged back by the scrapper who jumped him. "One of you wanna help!?" His predator shouted angrily, losing his hold on Mesut's back end as the snake worked at clawing his way out. Before he could manage, another man who had since made himself known from the opposite direction slammed his head down and pressed a boot down one hand, grabbing the other by the wrist when Mesut swiped at his leg, successfully breaking skin. He couldn't see anything, and feeling two bodies sit along the length of his tail, felt like he was being pinned down like a crocodile.<br/><br/>A mess of matted, dark hair was pushed aside and a hand yanked up the rings of beads and bangles around his neck, half choking him from behind. After the scrappers had appraised his jewelry enough, he felt the sharp sting of a knife on his nape before the one with his hand on his head stopped to propose "Don't kill the thing! We can sell it up north you know. Probably for more than the rings." The scrapper holding the knife barked back about how such a stunt would've gotten them killed, or how Mesut was too much trouble. The argument lasted a half minute, all while he silently writhed and attempted to throw off the weight on his back. A searing heat in his side indicated that he'd opened the wound from before in his throes for freedom.<br/><br/>Eventually his arms were forced together and bound, and a dark cloth bag was emptied of what they must've deemed as useless contents before being thrown around over his head. The scrappers manhandling him started to drag him off by his tail, his torso dragged through the mud and abraised by coarse stones. He couldn't see anything  as he was tossed onto something wooden, didn't know where to try and escape if he could have, and only gave small, sparse thrashes every now and then whenever something shifted against his body. The bag was too thick for comfort, hard to breathe through, and his arms started to be rubbed raw by thin, wiry ropes. Mesut was left alone to wonder where he was going as the planks rumbled beneath him, the boards of a moving cart from what he could gather. They confiscated his jewelry and spoke of selling him off to religious settlements in the north, but he couldn't begin to decipher what they meant, or who anyone was.<br/><br/>Hours passed before a chill in the air and a loud chirping of many insects told him night had fallen, the cart came to a stop and without any energy left, Mesut laid there pitifully. He doubted he could leave if he tried, or defend himself in this state, especially when up until now in the duration of his whole life he hadn't need to. No one came to feed him or speak with him, it was obvious that being barely alive would've been good enough for these bandits and the snake could've gone a few more days without nourishment. Accompanying the sound of cicadas were the men unloading tarps and wood to set up camp for the night, leaving Mesut out of sight with the rest of their stolen or scavenged inventory. He could barely hear their conversations, from incoherent names to the nasty wound one of them got from his own claws.