"Meat... pie..? No, never that combination. Red meat is very red, more than this you have. Sometimes, not cooked? With a lot of small seasons." Mesut had been with their cooks before, there weren't many places to wander if you lived at the temple, and they were welcome most anywhere, it was his home first and foremost before any human's. It was interesting to see how they turned those large animals into something so palatable. "It is cooked a little sometimes, but I prefer the red kind. It doesn't... keep, does it? Doesn't last. The cooks serve it right away, and it's gone that night." Talking about food made him find the taste in his mouth less favorable, but it was charity at this point he couldn't afford to reject. It was obvious at this point he had no intention of eating more bread or cheese though.<br/><br/>He only began to understand the new word very little. Supposedly, it would've applied had they partook in group rituals. Though he heard of such, he never witnessed one among his temple in particular. Supposedly there were many strewn across the seaside. They'd often pair together mates and trade infants between eachother as 'service to their bloodlines' as the priests called it. But Mesut never wished to inquire further.<br/><br/>The sack set beside him piqued his interest, and after experimentally shaking it the slightest to feel a slosh, identified it as water. It's raw taste, without citrus or floral remedies, was enough to satisfy him on it's own, bringing almost instant relief to the back of his throat as well as the pit of his belly. When he lowered the pouch, he gave an all too sincere look to Fakir. Listening to the intricacies of the braids he saw on him earlier. They were eyecatching, Mesut never had them himself, his hair was always kept overly long and naturally set. Though what was once well kept, fragrant waves of hair down his back was now a filthy mess that strung over his face and matted in many parts. Was hair like his impossible to keep out here? Were the knots to be expected?<br/><br/>"I was asking if... you would groom me.. I don't know if that's a normal ask, for you.You're very warm, more warm than humans are." Though to be fair, that could simply be attributed to Fakir having a larger body than any simple priest he scoot up against. the spaciousness of his haunches could support the weight of his entire lower half, it was strangely convenient. Would it have been a strange ask? The horse said he groomed within his own sex, and Mesut still remembered when he was identified as a male, a role he settled quite comfortably into, though it rarely mattered. Once they were all in a single pool there was no telling the males from the females apart. He knew the others by name first and foremost. "I was skeptical, your hands have blunt fingers, but you look like you're cared for, despite some strange methods." Humans used tools, this he knew, and perhaps the centaur did the same. But even a the feeling of a comb down the back of his neck would suffice.<br/><br/>Something he was less likely to admit was that though exhausted, they never slept alone, always in piles. The cold privacy of the wagon, tarp and all, felt at least a little daunting. And he didn't fully understand the separation, having a companion at his side now.