He always found it interesting to watch his students. When he didn't wander their ranks and observe their gradual creation, he was at a window or his own desk, looking through what he was given at the end of each day. It took more effort to put together writing exercises each day than it did to think up art exercises. And considering the small, ten-person classes he had each class, it was much easier to focus on one student individually. Near the end of class, Terry approached with his work and Reid accepted it with a bright smile, sliding it into the class's folder to take care of later. As he did with each piece of work, he tacked his observations and thoughts onto the back to help the student where it was necessary, and he did that at the end of each day.

His eyes drifted after a while, watching them. He caught Terry with another young man that had been working on a sketch of a sculpture he would be doing the day after, and smiled at that. He was at least being more social. His eyes went up to the window, and brought up his hand to his pale eye with a grimace. That eye, so light a blue it was almost white, was much more sensitive to bright lights, but he didn't mind that. It was a unique thing he'd been born with, a testament to what he would be as an adult. Outside, though, it was bright. The trees had grown bright and colorful, their leaves falling in bursts every day, and the ground dusted from time to time with a light layer of snow. Soon the trees would be barren and caked with damp snow, icicles, winter birds roosting and puffed up to keep warm.

The bell rang not long after, and he stood up. "You know the drill, boys. Finished stuff in the green folder, unfinished stuff in the blue." He indicated the two open folders he'd employed on the third day. He nodded to each as they left, smiling and saying goodbye, promising to speak to one during that evening. He looked rather pained as he left, and that hurt Reid. He hated seeing that expression. That look of sadness, regret, pain, just below the surface.