The sun has hidden. Laura's blanket flaps in the cool night wind. She pulls it up, up, up.
The barn still smells cold and still. Then—a tiny golden flicker near the hay loft.
Laura crawls into bed and tucks the blanket to her chin. "Thank you, Romário," she whispers.
The wind swishes the words away. The golden flicker dims. Laura pokes her head over the blanket edge.
Laura pads barefoot to the window. Cool air fogs her breath. She cups her hands: "Thank you, Romário!"—louder.
Thump, thump—soft wings settle on the sill. The tiny golden-winged creature glows brighter, pressing close to the glass.
A warm golden spill creeps across the blanket. Laura presses her palm flat against the glass and it hums. Romário's wings close, slow and slow.
Laura pulls the blanket back up. The cow moos low and the wind chime ticks—tick, tick, tick. Through the curtain, the glow is steady and small.
