Elna sat on her narrow cot and traced the crack in the amber windowpane. The dim children's home room smelled of old wood. Beyond the glass, golden-brown hills faded into evening rain. She watched the slow drops race each other down the amber pane.
A wet cat with fur the color of her own curls slipped through the drafty door. It shook rain onto the wooden floor and looked up at her. Elna thought: *You came all this way in this weather.*
Elna opened her tin box and took out the last dry crumb of bread. She held it flat on her palm and whispered, 'You can have this one.' The cat stepped forward and ate from her hand. Its rough tongue tickled her skin.
The cat curled into a warm amber ball at her feet and plopped its head onto her scuffed shoe. A low rumble started in its chest and vibrated against her ankle. Elna's fingers slowly stroked its wet fur.
Elna fell asleep with the cat's rumble humming against her ankle. Dawn crept through the amber windowpane, turning the whole room to gold. She dreamed of hills warm and dry and full of sunlight.
The next morning, Elna opened her door to find a small pile of amber glass shards on her step. Each one caught the dawn light like a tiny stained-glass jewel. She picked one up and held it to the window.
She held the shard to the window and watched it glow — the crack in the amber glass seemed to pulse with light. *Thank you,* she thought, though she did not know why. The cat appeared at her side and sat down.
Elna arranged the amber shards in a row on her windowsill and stepped back to admire them. The cat sat beside her, tail curled around both of them. Golden light spilled across the quiet room, and the crack in the window seemed to smile.