Just before midday, Samir was doing the one job he liked best in Moonjar Courtyard: keeping the water from wandering. He stood by the cracked cistern in the center, watching the shallow channels catch the last little wash of morning water and guide it where it should go. The clay pots along the walls were lined up like quiet guards, and the bowls for washing hands sat in the shade, cool and ready.
“Easy,” Samir said to himself, with a grin that made the word sound funny. He tapped one pot with a finger, then another, as if the whole courtyard were a game he alone understood.
Then the sky above the wall filled with wings.
A flock of thirsty desert birds swept down into the courtyard and landed all at once. They were small and dusty-colored, with quick eyes and sharp beaks, and they did not act shy at all. Before Samir could even blink, they were crowding every bowl and basin, splashing, pecking, and drinking like the water belonged to them.
“Hey!” Samir called, waving his arms. The birds only hopped closer together.
From the bake nook doorway, Tariq leaned out to stare. Basil skidded in near the low jars, his bright eyes darting from bowl to bowl. No one had seen birds refuse to leave the courtyard like this before.
Samir looked at the bowls, then at the birds, then at the cistern. If he chased them, they might spill water everywhere. If he left them, there might not be enough for the people who lived here. He could try to scare them off, call for help, or start figuring out how to share the water without a mess. But the birds were already settled in, and they were not going anywhere by themselves.
What happens next?
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