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Bakhtiyar and the World That Went to Bed The day was done. The light turned gold. The world grew soft as the day grew old. From meadow floor to far-off hill. Everything was growing still. The sun gave one great, sleepy yawn, then slipped below the hill... and gone. The last warm light slipped through a cloud, then dipped away without a sound. The sky blushed pink, then purple, then gray. The sun had tucked itself away. And there was Bakhtiyar, up on the hill. "Goodnight, sun!" Bakhtiyar called,