He thought of portions, he shared his meals with the other nagas, so it was hard to tell how much he needed exactly. "We all eat from the same meat. Compared to this, it is a lot but I don't think I've ever eaten a whole animal on my own... at least, not the large ones they would carry in." Boar sounded nice, though he was worried as to how it would've been prepared, if dried or cooked thoroughly. It was a shame, he thought, that most traveling didn't experience meals the same way he had, the richness was lost to the fire. Hopefully, some like Fakir would've found his taste in ruddy meats unfavorable.<br/><br/>It was a rough night, he ended their conversation without words, simply looking defeated, maybe even disappointed, having hoped to been invited to lie together. It wasn't much use forcing it on something so different though. The tunic he'd been handed prior with the food was ignored, if Fakir implied he should get dressed, he certainly didn't enjoy the idea. That night he settled on coiling up around himself, setting his head to rest on his lower half so that it didn't have to touch the wood of the wagon.<br/><br/>If life had been less cruel to him this past week he would've found the chirping of insects and rustling of trees calming. It was like being able to hear the street life beyond his temple or the distant sea back home. At least now that he was somewhere safe, or so he hoped, he could rest his eyes without worrying about bandits or barbarians, having little choice but to place his trust in Fakir's experience without having any of his own.<br/><br/>Sleep still hadn't come easy, he wasn't much of a dreamer, but one of the times he laid his head back down or adjusted his position to better rest, he heard all too real sounds, branches snapping or the echo of one of the scrapper's voices, only to raise his ears and find out it was all in his head, or natural sounds of their woodland camp amplified by his own anxieties. At some point through the night he noticed Fakir change position, standing oddly, though silent. He was sleeping like that? He never saw horses sleep back at home, never roaming the stables at evening hours. It didn't look... comfortable, quite the opposite. Mesut scratched the space of tail beneath his face and put in what only felt lilke a few more hours of sleep, before noticing a change in light that streamed down through the canopy above. The rest of the time he spent awake was mostly waiting for a change in Fakir, and being upset that the sun wasn't going to shine down strongly with the trees in it's way. It was still dark, early into dawn, but the few spots of subtle warmth that graced his body when he stretched his tail to hang out of the wagon felt like some divine tease.<br/><br/>Like the night before, he was back to staring at Fakir, the food and clothes he refused were set on a box in the wagon out of view, and he had somewhere along the lines tried to pry muddy knots out of his hair, as well as various small leaves or twigs that got buried, glued in with packed dirt. Mesut decided to give up, and try to be patient.