William drew until he was as close as he could possibly get, until the whorls and sigils on the parchment matched up with what he saw behind his closed eyelids. Then he drew the knife handle, albeit with extreme reluctance, one hand unconsciously straying to his side where the blade had lodged. It was healed now; the school nurse had done a fine job. There was nothing but phantom pain, leeching over from the dream.
He was aware of Joe peripherally, uneasy on the edge of his field of vision, and some part of his brain thought he should be conscientious and ask whether Joe himself was all right, but he couldn't focus on anything but the ink on the parchment. There would time to ask afterward.
He scratched the last few lines into place and stared hard at them, then passed the sheet to Joe for confirmation or correction. "Is that it?"