Neal half-smiles, then settles, parking himself in the other chair again, where he can see out the window. He studies the horizon, looks for something to hold his interest, and decides that's not the place to start. The place to start is with shapes. Just... draw what's there, and see where his focus goes.

So he does that instead. At first he's very aware of Malcolm's presence, the comfort of it, the reassuring solidity. Then he starts to drift. He doesn't notice. The way the pencil starts to flick off lines that aren't part of the landscape. The way his posture goes slack and his eyes go unfocused.

He's not drawing the mountains.

He's drawing a beach, seen from offshore. A New England town in flames.