Mesut's thrashing sent the hooves dancing, a startled "Oi!" shouted a bit overhead. Whoever it was waited until Mesut's thrashing died down, then stood there quietly. After a moment, the hooves started to walk off. The sharp snap of wood came from the area of the camp, the hoofsteps returning. "Easy there," the foreign voice from before said, low and smooth before the bag on Mesut's head started tugging off. From the sounds of it, the stranger was using a piece of wood to try and remove the bag, rather unwilling to get his hands close after the wild flailing from a moment ago. The splintered wood managed to snag onto the bag, and with an awkward jerk, the bag started to raise. "Oof, sorry," came a mutter when the bag got stuck halfway up Mesut's face. With a more forceful tug, the bag finally came up.<br/><br/>A bewildered man towered over Mesut. One arm held what looked like a snapped pole intended to pitch up a tent, the bag that had blinded and semi-suffocated on the end. After a moment, his line of sight followed Mesut's shoulder to the uncomfortable bend of the naga's arm. Slowly, he raised his own arms, as his hand dropped the snapped pole. He sidled closer, his movements simultaneous with the hooves, no horse in immediate sight. "Easy," he said again. "I'm not human either," he said slowly. He wasn't sure if that would ease the naga's anxiety, but he eased to the end of the cart, arms still above his head, until his body came into view, clothing giving way to an elongated, thick body.<br/><br/>He eventually lowered his arms, crossing them in front of his body. Fakir had never really been in this sort of situation before. He had chased off a few drunkards from raping a woman, but she'd run off screaming once they hied off. Perhaps she thought Fakir would rape her after ridding himself of competitors. He debated cutting the naga's bindings, but he didn't know if the tied snake would attempt to thrash again, bite him, claw at him...<br/><br/>"I knew they were thieves. Didn't figure them for... er..." He wasn't sure if he would call them slavers. He'd never heard of naga slaves before, and he'd heard plenty of tall tales on his travels. "They were a bit scrawny..." he ended weakly. Clearing his throat, he pulled out a knife from his belt, but kept his distance. "Do you understand me? Can you speak?" he asked before pointing explicitly to his knife. "I want to cut your arms free. Is that alright with you?"