Mesut quietly listened as 'Fakir' rambled on about being a stupid colt, his words were meant to supplement the snake's questions, but Mesut could only nod uncertainly, nothing quite registering yet. "My name is Mesut." He put it simply, going back to watching the man as he undressed and started to tend to his own cuts and bruises. Not once did he consider it unnerving to be watched, eyes nearly unblinking, as if searching the horse for answers, or still adjusting to having seen something so very foreign.<br/><br/>With the extra room he shifted himself, allowing his lower half to stretch out a bit before pinning his attention on Fakir again. "I wanted to ask..." Mesut murmered quietly, perhaps a bit too low, soon taken off guard by the mere mention of food, which he perhaps a little too enthusiastically nodded in reply. He didn't consider that they had different diets, or the quality of the meal itself, at this point he'd literally eat anything that wouldn't rip his throat to shreds or poison him. But a little curious, he did bother to ask "How often do you eat....? The priests have many small meals, but we're only served meals every several days... Large ones."<br/><br/>Maybe in a way he understood it now, what was considered normal. Nothing was normal, or out of the ordinary. The world was strange and unusual, but obviously he didn't belong in it, or else he'd have had a better time. Part of his thoughts still lingered on the topic of laying about with his new companion and having his body picked at and rubbed clean, but maybe that was just limited to his own expectations. This man traveled alone from the looks of it, and spoke of tending to his own needs. "... So... You're always just you..? When not with your... guide."  It was obvious the concept of a guide was unfamiliar to him, though he understood the word enough. Would their acolytes be considered guides? He remembered his first ritual post-maturity, requiring guidance then. Perhaps this 'guide' had only one purpose, or that's simply all Fakir thought of them as, a simple teacher. Or perhaps it was more like a prophet? Mesut narrowed his eyes again with a knit brow, deep in thought.<br/><br/>When Fakir moved to supposedly recover some food to eat, he snapped out from under his train of thought. He stil appeared as if he wanted to say something, having scowled the entire time they were talking. Would it have been the same? To be groomed by such blunt hands, by a man who used mud to keep his hair in order. While Mesut was familiar with recreational mud baths, the idea of not rinsing it out certainly irked him. By now he was smart enough to realize life outside made his own seem glamorous. The idea of being priviledged wasn't a kind one, but it was obvious the two had come from different backgrounds, and their meeting was only under strange circumstance.<br/><br/>"Have you seen me?" Lip quirked in a grimace, he corrected himself, "Like me, snakes. Seen us, I meant. I've never seen you... your, kind. The priests know you. Horses with men on top." If Fakir had never seen one of his people before, then he surely was taking it a lot better than Mesut. All of the man's questions were simple, and impersonal. He looked so much more confident, and as much as it was calming to be around someone who knew what they were doing, Mesut would be lying if he said it wasn't a little irritating. It only was for the fact he felt so small and childish by comparison.