He knew a night of restlessness was ahead of him. It wasn't unusual. He would fall asleep for a while, but then wake up when the pain began seeping into his half-dreams. Now only the light of the warm lamp to his right was on, offering its light to his work. At that point the body and its legs had dried to a point that it could still, very slightly, be formed, but wouldn't do so unless Michael used both hands and a good amount of muscle to force it. And even then, it would probably break, which wasn't in his concept of 'finished work'. He formed the head a bit more around a lightweight metal construct and used a little extra clay to push it onto the solid body and hide the seam, the head pointed upward in the equine's proud display. While the fresh clay was still pliable, he formed its ears, then used the dull polishing end of the implement to form the horse's eye sockets and nostrils, and the sharp end to cut the creature's mouth in and form it a little to make it more realistic. It was always the small, minute details that were the hardest...

Before he let it all dry, he cut the mane and tail holders carefully and set it carefully down, making sure the head and neck were off the flat surface so they wouldn't dry in a crooked manner. There was a television on the wall nearby, but he didn't usually watch it. There was, though, a specific channel he liked that was dedicated to classical music, and he poked in that channel number, happy to hear piano and stringed instruments. He'd always wanted to learn the piano. Or violin. His parents had an against-the-wall piano he would practice at from time to time, at least while they weren't home so he didn't annoy them. Michael remembered that much. He squeezed extra clay between his fingers, sighing and looking at the fingerprint he left in it. Maybe his parents would be too curious to resist visiting sometime... They'd gotten the call, the hospital, the room number. They just hadn't acknowledged any of it. Maybe they'd come to see him sometime.