Michael tilted his head. He'd figured out languages before fourteen. It sounded like French, and it was a nice tone. He smiled. A nice tone. he rocked a little back and forth, sponging the white paint onto the figurine and half-closing his eyes. Sleep was far away, and would be, perhaps, until the window lighted with morning. He switched to a brush---a soft brush, with long bristles. It brushed the paint on evenly and smoothly, and didn't leave gouges. He painted the entire thing, except the eyes, which would be done with a different medium of paint that made the eyes glossy and obvious, even when the entire thing was sprayed in its clear varnish.

Eventually, he had to insert a pin into the horse to finish painting it, leaving the bottoms of the hooves clean and using his used sketch paper as a bed so the paint wouldn't get anywhere else. It took a moment for him to realize that Sasha had just fallen silent. "S... Sasha, do you like horses? A favorite, maybe?" If that were the case, he could paint it to specification. If he just had a point to go on, first.