He didn't feel he was falling asleep, but over time the sounds of the men were drowned out by crickets and the like, even with the entry of a new arrival. Mesut devoted his time to thinking about his options, whether it was sensible to bash one upside the head with his tail if one attempted to get close enough, or give up and let whatever was going to happen to him, happen. The feet that neared the cart pulled him enough out of his thoughts to make him especially anxious, reeling back at the sound of a hand by his body and thrashing good and hard as soon as fingers plunged into the open gash on his side. He couldn't feel himself hit anything, the pain and the bag blocking him from being able to tell where the scrapper had been, but Mesut surely made noise, prompting the man to be yelled at and ushered away to leave him with some peace.<br/><br/>The heat radiating from his wound made his eyes sting with a tear or two, and his trembling body curled up into a ball underneath himself almost instinctively, as if the newfound position offered him some protection against the elements. Eventually he heard something strange enough to alarm him, not the trampling of human feet but the solid sound of hooves against the gravel and dirt. Horses, he was experienced enough to pinpoint, remembering seeing them often as they carried in temple supplies through their courtyard. Mesut and the others lazily watched them from their pools while getting  a daily dose of sunlight. It seemed the men noticed it as well, their silence soon cut off by bursts of yelling and the heavy clanking  and thunks of a trashed camp. He heard the unsettling noises of hollow cries cut short by unforseen means, the sounds of death he'd only first heard when his temple was attacked, and it riled up the snake and instilled some level of learned fear in him.<br/><br/>The one on the horse was looking for something, rummaging through their goods, coming to the cart and making Mesut cower, scooting back till his side hit a wooden crate. The hand on his shoulder sent him into a bit of a flurry, tail thrashing out from beneath himself with enough force to lean himself up, only to tumble back against a bundle of old fabrics. His head jerked forward, wanting to throw the bag off but failing without the use of his arms. Mesut didn't want to be fooled again, it had only taken a short number of days to ruin his trust in strangers, and without eyesight he had even fewer ways of trying to tell the friendly ones from the malicious. As far as he knew it could've been the mauraders again, here to kill him like they did the others, or drag him away to whatever place he was supposedly going to be sold to.<br/><br/>The adrenaline had kicked in now, but he had no choice but to wait, body stiff and muscles tight, chest heaving from the effort, and enough on the mind that he forgot about the feel of cold that leaked out of his wound. His bound hands clawing at the surface behind him as he waited for something to lay a hand on him again. Mesut was hell bent on slapping another man out of commission, even if it meant he'd sit in that cart until he starved to death or birds picked him off.