"I've got pencils," Freddie says, still feeling a bit unsettled even as Noah stays pressed close, his face as bright and sweet as always. "And some pastels."

He pushes himself to his feet then, disappearing down the hall to gather what he has from his bedroom before returning with two tin containers -- one holding rather high-end colored pencils, the other containing two dozen pastels in various shades. "Haven't got much paper," he admits because he's not about to pull the sketchpad he keeps in his drawer out for Noah to use.