His breath caused the fabric of the bag to constrict his mouth and nose with each inhale, struggling to see through the weaves but it was so dark he couldn't even see the man's silhouette. He couldn't react before the bag was tugged halfway off his head, getting caught on his nose and the sudden surprise causing him to wheeze momentarily. Once his eyes were uncovered he blinked repeatedly, adjusting his foggy gaze to stare at the strange body in front of him, seemingly human at a glance, but as his eyes traveled lower he saw the shadow of a horse start at his waist.<br/><br/>Mesut was still wary, a telling look in his eyes as he was trying to tell if the man could be trusted or not. He was... different, and the snake had certainly heard of horse bodied men before, but never saw one with his own eyes. Some silence passed before he took the risk of slamming his tail over the edge of the cart, using his lower weight to pull himself forward and let his hands be cut free. He hadn't spoken until now, but as he rubbed at his wrists and tried to calm his heart, placing an inkling of trust in the stranger, he gave a weak nod of his head.<br/><br/>"Yes.." Was all he cared to say. If Mesut were in less trouble he would've been offended that his new acquaintance brushed off the bandits as 'scrawny' and an easy fight. He'd never fought anyone before, and recalled a longing for rescue when he saw his first human outside that temple. In an ideal world, they would've brought him back home, and it would've been like nothing had ever happened. His wounds would be tended to, his messy, knotted hair brushed out delicately with ivory soaps and fragrant, floral oils. But as he sat there, body covered in mud, scuffed from being thrown around, and his jewelry cut off him by force, he looked no better than a wild animal.<br/><br/>His eyes stayed glued onto the horse for a minute, he wondered if he had been too hopeful to assume the man would help him further, for not being human, he'd been especially ornate. His own kind never wore the garb that humans did, instead decorated with precious stones and metals not of their choosing. Mesut saw nothing odd with it for the longest time, taking all life had given him at face value and seeing their worship as a natural course of action. They were blessed offspring of Gulpasa, their only service to their two legged acolytes being intimate rituals of hands and mouths. But this horse dressed as them, spoke as them.<br/><br/>"....Are you going?" Mesut snapped suddenly,  brows knit together in worry, voice low and uneasy. His limbs ached, his chest burned, his throat felt like sand and his palms like clams. In his peripheral he saw the embers of the camp his captors had set up, bowls and bottls knocked around, boards broken. He wanted to say how he doubted he could shrug off the events that transpired, but settled for glaring at the horse expectantly with a quiet "I don't want to be here.."