[will nods, shifting from one foot to the other, then seems to remember something.]

Be right back. [he scurries back inside, tiny and quiet and careful, and reappears minutes later with his backpack. he rummages around in it, amid the loose colored pencils and crayons and paper, and pulls out a large-ish sketchbook.]

Um. I made you something. As -- to say thanks for. Listening to me. [the sketchbook has some loose pages tucked inside it, and will pulls a couple of them free, holding them out hesitantly. on them, he'd done his best to draw the older will's dogs -- all seven of them -- based on the descriptions he'd gotten. the drawings are...actually surprisingly well-done for a thirteen-year-old kid. clearly he agonized over them, erasing and redrawing the lines until they fit his exacting self-standards.]

Here. If...if you want them.