Riku picked up the kite. For the first time, he noticed how the sunlight made the red paint shimmer. He noticed the way the bamboo frame flexed, strong and springy. He had been so afraid of it failing, he had never actually seen it live .

She took the kite from his hands and, to Riku’s horror, untied the carefully wound string from its bridle.

Eventually, the wind carried the kite gently down into the meadow. Riku ran to it, breathless and smiling. He wasn’t sad. The kite wasn’t lost. It had simply finished its dance.