Oh, of course. Michael hadn't seen the bag, but he hadn't been searching for one. It made enough sense that he wouldn't keep questioning it, and absently molded the bit of clay into the general shape of a horse's head. Sasha was quickly decided to be his security blanket, a safe haven, someone that cared. Someone that quickly mattered to Michael as a real friend. Or at least, he could be a real friend. It had to be too soon to consider someone a friend. The social cues and interactions he'd learned at a young age had dulled to the point of nonexistence, and perhaps he was too quick to become dependent on the first sign of friendship that was presented.

He tensed at the prospect of starting something now. Now? Why not, at least, seen over by the person that he trusted more than the others? "I'll be honest, I... haven't really walked for four years." He'd stood a good number of times, but shifting weight from one leg to the other... it sounded like true torture. To feel the bolt moving with him, the metal clinging to his bones and interfering with his muscles.