"Kick me...?" The horse shifting beneath him uneasily made him dig his claws into the cloth over the man's torso, shifting his weight a little bit to get comfortable. He was wrong then...? Just how heavy was he? Were horses not as strong as they looked? Maybe the chest and bags he was carrying combined weighed more than the muscles of his tail. Whatever it was, he was thankful enough when the stranger started to walk, letting him fight off sleep while enjoying the body heat and the motions. It felt like being rocked by the water of a sunlit pool, made him forget, at least for a short while, the gross feeling of mud crusted under his claws and in the curves of his body, and how his hair seemed to tug at his scalp whenever it caught on anything.<br/><br/>Trying to give himself something to distract himself with, he noticed the mane that followed  down the man's back, the hair on his head,  brushed with what looked to be braids here and there. He continued staring, awkwardly meeting the centaur's gaze whenever he'd twist his head back to curiously glance. The words he was told, cold and almost insultingly grim, were still troubling. He'd learn plenty enough, or had he really? Just this day he didn't know who to trust and how to tell people apart, he couldn't read their faces, anticipate their actions. He couldn't comprehend what pushed so many men to attack him, among others. If money were the answer, he didn't know where to begin understanding it. Mesut couldn't eat, he didn't know where to get food, used to the delicately served meats and fish served to them by their acolytes. He'd seen their bodies whole as animals were delivered to their temple from various butchers or merchants, but hadn't the faintest idea of where they came from, nor did he ever stop to wonder. Was matted hair a part of life among those without others to help with grooming? He'd tried to pull out knots and come his hair with his claws but only seemed to have made it worse. Just the feeling of large insects crawling under his body stressed him out and threw him into a panic those first nights out of his element.<br/><br/>It wasn't until he was asked to move after they'd come to a clearing, that he decided to ask. After pulling himself into the wagon, tail slowly coiling around himself, he leaned his upper half over the side, head resting on an arm. "... You helped then." Realizing his words were meaningless without context, he quickly added, "Learn or die, but you help me, so what is this supposed to teach me?" Mesut wasn't sure if he would be understood, confused himself. The horse's words didn't match his actions, or his attitude, he seemed so generous for such a grave message. "You are different...? Or were they different? Who is.. normal. " Perhaps the kind acolytes he grew up with were out of the ordinary, and most people were vile and unempathetic towards others. Or was he just a lowly beast? All new concepts to him. He wondered if the bandits had known him, or if this strange man knew him, perhaps not by name, but by nature.<br/><br/>He lifted his head, wincing when his hair caught on one of his claws again, before his wanton eyes scanned over the centaur again. Would it have been out of line...? "Could you... do that with mine? Is that fine? I usually.." Mesut's words trailed off, curious if explanations of his various questions or statements mattered. ".... Do you groom?" It honestly felt a bit strange asking someone to partake in grooming with him, given he didn't know his name. It was normally a social activity between him and the others back at the temple, whether it be those like himself or the followers. Few things were more comforting than the feeling of claws lightly stroking one's scalp, their bodies often lazily coiled over one another. But if no water or food was in sight, it was on his list of things he craved most right now.