Perhaps it had been too much all at once. Even if he looked grown, Fakir wasn't sure if Mesut had ever been given the responsibility of unsavory knowledge before. But it was too late for that. Mesut had had to face whatever had happened at his temple. Even if it was a blur, he would have understood harm had been done. And the scrappers that had taken Mesut had likely contributed to the naga's education, even if he might have been too shocked to process it. Fakir could only imagine what was happening in his mind now with a neutral voice trying to give reason to the unreasonable. It was like describing horror. One could try, but the words would falter, or fall short to the magnitude of what horror is. One could not describe horror. Only feel it. Words could only touch the edges of it, and reason would push it away again.<br/><br/>Too late, Fakir tried to take Mesut's mind away, hoping his curiosity might distract him. But while Mesut watched Fakir braid, the centaur could tell his eyes were not seeing his mane. When Mesut looked up, seeming to return from whatever thoughts possessed him, Fakir merely nodded to the naga. He finished braiding his hair in silence. They had been in the sun long enough for his body and pelt to dry, even if his mane and tail were still a bit damp. Since they were to be on the road, he choose undyed woolen clothes, saving his gaudier (and yes, they were gaudy) clothing for when it was time to trade with humans. After all, they were attracted to shiny things worse than magpies.<br/><br/>He mused to himself as he tossed his bottom covering over himself, guiding his hooves into the sewn leg holes. Tugging the laces shut, he dressed in a simple tunic and vest. He supposed he might have to back track a bit. He had actually just come from the coastal towns. He hadn't actually been at the coast, seeing as he had bought nets and fishing thread and rope needles last year. There had been a surplus so he had bought plenty. But he could always go back for more rope. Sea-worthy rope always seemed to last the longest, and if he stayed along the coast longer than intended, he could buy glass. It was thick and unwieldy, and though not prone to breaking easily, it was more delicate than his other goods. It was why Fakir usually didn't buy glass unless he was about to head straight to his herd.<br/><br/>"Do you know the name of the city your temple was in, Mesut?" Fakir asked. "If I know it, we can go there. If not, I know a few towns that had statues of... Gulpasa?" Fakir awkwardly echoed Mesut's name for his goddess. "They should know of which towns would have temples dedicated to her, I think. I never got close to a temple, so I wouldn't be sure which cities had them. Most cities keep tradesmen far from places of wealthier residence or religion unless it was for a delivery," Fakir said as he loaded his saddlebags on. Then with a more practiced heft, he helped Mesut back into the driver's seat of the wagon.<br/><br/>"Remember, you can sit up there for now but if humans come along, I want you to hide in the wagon," Fakir said before musing. Should they have some sort of signal, or should he just tell Mesut to hide? Well, his ears were sharper than humans, and he could see farther and with sharper contrast too, so maybe a simple 'hide' would do. "Just use my horse blanket to crawl under. I think we can disguise your tail as some textiles I'm carrying," Fakir suggested. "Until then, you can enjoy the sunlight. The closer we get to the coast, the less trees there will be," he glanced towards the sky. The road was fairly clear, letting a strip of sky be seen, but the forest would go on for some miles. He should be able to carry them out come evening. If he hustled, he might even make it to a farm that he traded with occasionally. They would offer him shelter.