Lake Bismuth swimming in a fish bowl

His ears perked up. The voice of a women infiltrated his thoughts. Perhaps it was just his imagination? He doubted it. His eyes shifted upwards from his craft, a wolf of red hues — much like the area surrounding them — sat before him. A confused tone rode her words. Was the sight that bewildering? 

He wrinkled his nose, wiping a muddied paw over it, creating even more of a mess — though unintentional. "Isn’t it obvious?" He questioned through confident words. "I’m sculpting! Ain’t it pretty?" He pointed at it. The jumble of dirt wasn’t all that appealing. What exactly was it, anyways?

He awaited her reaction patiently. Clearly very sure about his work. Not much could convince him otherwise of its beauty.

A bit of a loose screw, this one.