The mortal men, as proud as gods, blasphemed against the setting sun. They didn't know she'd rise again, they feared the moon. What's done is done. The men forsook the spacious sky, left their sheep and fields of grain, and hollowed homes into the rock. They never saw the sky again. But in their haste, and in their fear, the men somehow misplaced their light and so their sons and grandchildren never recieved the gift of sight. A thousand generations passed living on spores and damp-wall-dew and when erosion made a hole, they couldn't see but they went through. The mortal men, as blind as bats, almost undid the shame they'd done but reading warmth as ill intent, they ran away. They feared the sun.