Fakir gave the naga a sympathetic pat on his shoulder. He remembered being scared when it was announced he would replace the merchant of his herd. He would only accompany the old stallion for three winters before he would take over the duty of tradesman for the herd. Whether he had been ready or not, he was to be thrust into the world outside their nomadic routes. He could only imagine Mesut's plight, being out here, captured by humans and left without a guide. "You learn, or you die," he said sternly. Perhaps not the most comforting of words, but his guide had told him this early as if to cement that the world did not care for your inexperience or naivety. It would strick you down, regardless of who or what you are.<br/><br/>The centaur reared back before looking sheepish. He supposed slither might have been rude, but really, it's not like he had had lessons on how to talk to half snake people. He briefly debated on apologizing before snorting as he felt claws dig into his sides. It didn't hurt beyond a slight prick, but it had certainly startled him, and Fakir nearly dropped the chest and stepped back before his mind caught up and he held still to let the naga mount him. As the first coil got on, he steadied his legs, but as more of the naga draped over him, he nearly buckled, having already been exhausted from tacking the scrappers, then destroying their camp.<br/><br/>"Try to warn me, lad. I nearly tried to kick you in the face," Fakir wheezed out, pulling his legs closer together to center his and Mesut's weight. He had planned on doing a light canter back but that was out of the question. Fakir twisted a bit, tugging most of his mane out from beneath Mesut's head and shuddering his saddlebags further up his shoulders to give Mesut more room to sit. Then with a ginger step, he tested his weight from two alternating hooves to the others. Soon enough, he gained a fairly confident rhythm and started to take an easy walk back to his wagon, more than ready for this strange evening to end.<br/><br/>The walk was fairly quiet, and Fakir didn't want to push Mesut into conversation. He was sure he wouldn't have cared for a chat if he had been trussed up in rope like some wild beast. Occasionally, he did stretch his neck up, as if to peek at the naga to see if he was still there as if the extra weight wasn't enough. After a while, he spotted the tree which led down a small path to where he had hidden his wagon. It'd be a pain to pull it back up to the road but needs must. With careful steps, he started inching off the road, a bit more cautious since he couldn't see holes or roots as well in the dark. Wouldn't do to break a leg. The wagon soon came into view, made in a simple but sturdy design, the wood work but well-maintained, and a thick, water-treated cloths stretching over it. "Here we are lad," he said across his shoulder, moving to the back to set his chest down. "Come down, won't you? I'll clear a space for you to sleep," he said, pointing towards the interior of his wagon.