Son compartido

Then even the wind had nothing to say. It curled up tight and called it a day. The birds flew home on tired wings and tucked themselves in feathered rings. Bakhtiyar looked up. "Goodnight, birds," called Bakhtiyar. "Sleep tight." Each one already tucked in for the night. The river slowed, then the river stopped. Not one little ripple. Not one little drop. The whole long river, bank to bank, went smooth and silver, still and blank.