He was tired down to his bones--no, past his bones, tired all the way down to every part of his soul--but sleep stubbornly refused to come. No matter how much he tossed and turned on his mat, no matter how much he desperately wished for unconsciousness, the room was too warm or his neck hurt or, for all he knew, the stars weren't in position for him to succumb.

Fighting the urge to beat his head against the ground--it wouldn't help, and would just make him sore in addition to his rising ill-temper--he rolled over again and buried his head in the crook of his arm until sunrise.