"Is he sick?" Noah asked with mild concern as he set to work carefully slicing a small slice of butter off of the stick and placing it on his plate. A tiny corner was cut from the square and he speared both it, and a bite of the waffle, before peering over at Gabriel.
"If he's sick, we should give him some soup," he stated matter-of-factly and with a nod before sticking the bite of food into his mouth. His eyes widened at the taste, his lips held firmly together as he chewed yet still turned upwards at the corners.
Once he'd swallowed, Noah added simply, "It always makes me feel better, when I'm sick." With that he went back to work gathering up another tiny corner of the square of butter, along with a piece of waffle dipped in some of the syrup gathering on the plate.