Beyond the horizon, where no one had ever been, there is a beautiful land with grassy valleys and tree-covered hills. Streams trickle down the green slopes and join together to form a broad, placid river, where flowers nod their heads over the banks. The inhabitants of that land are Moons--big, shining, globular moons. They have no arms or legs, but they can move quickly across the grass by rolling over and over. It is a pleasant life in that green, watered land, but sometimes the Moons grow restless, and when night comes they have the urge to explore farther afield and stroll across the sky.
Only one moon ever goes on such a journey at a time. It is a pity that they do not go in company, but they do not know that outside the valley there lives a giant. He catches the wandering Moon, and with his flint knife he cuts a slice from it each night, until after many nights there is nothing left but a number of shining slivers. The giant cuts them up very finely and throws them all over the sky.
They are timid little creatures, the cut-up Moons which have become stars. During the day, when a Sun goes striding across the sky, they hide. Who knows but that, if they showed themselves then, another Sun might not creep out and catch them unwares.
At night there are no Suns, and who cares about the next silly old Moon who will go for a stroll and never come back? Very soon he too will be cut up into Stars. So, in the velvety blackness of the night, they frolic and play until the hungry Sun again stamps across the sky.
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