The Bird We Made Together

"Look, Ponta. This is my treasure." In Mio's open palm, a tiny clay bird. She made it with her grandmother, the day before Grandma moved far away. Fingers all covered in clay, the two of them laughing. "Let's make another one together someday." — Mio can still almost hear Grandma's voice. Ponta gazed at the little bird with big round eyes.

Every day, Mio set the little bird on the windowsill. "Good morning," first thing each day. "Good night," at the end of it. Ponta would flop down right beside her. "You know, Ponta — this bird is my number-one. So, ever so gently, okay?" Ponta gave a little tail-wag, as if to nod. A quiet, warm time, just the two of them.

A day of strong wind. When the window was opened, the curtain billowed up. "Mio — snack time!" Mother's voice from the kitchen. Leaving the clay bird on the sill, Mio went pattering out of the room. A cold gust — whoosh. At the edge of the window, the clay bird teetered, wobbling. Ponta's eyes went wide.

"I have to save the bird!" Ponta leapt with all his might, stretching his little front paws out as far as they would go — almost, just a little more. But the tiny paws slipped, and the clay bird tumbled from his grasp, down to the floor with a clack. …Snap. It had broken clean in two. Ponta froze, there in front of the broken bird.

"Ponta, I'm ba—" Mio's voice stopped halfway. On the floor, the clay bird, broken in two. The one and only treasure she had made with Grandma. Something in Mio's chest went cold and still. "…Why." Ponta lowered his ears flat and, ever so gently, held out a little broken piece. But the bird, once broken, could not be made whole again.

Ponta's paws were shaking, and his tail too. He hadn't meant to. He must have been trying to protect the bird. In his big round eyes, tears were welling up as well. But — "Let's make another one together someday." That promise with Grandma felt as though it had shattered into pieces too. Mio's eyes grew hot and stung. Her sadness and her care for Ponta collided, right there in her chest.

Mio closed her hand tightly around the broken piece. Then she looked, long and steady, at the trembling Ponta. She could say "I'm really, really sad" — because it was her treasure, the one from Grandma. But Ponta was already blaming himself more than enough. Into the room spilled the sunset, gently lighting the broken bird. Mio's heart was full to the brim. What will Mio do?