In the beginning, when the world was young and untamed, the Moon walked upon the earth as a silent, wandering goddess. She wove the rhythms of the night, governing the sleep of beasts and the swelling of rivers.
Among the creatures fashioned from Atnis's remaining clay, the first woman—scorched by the celestial fire just like the rest—was mendig the nets for her man, since the finned offsprings of the water were about to climb down stream towards the sea likes every year, filling the nets of those who were prepared in time to collect such gifts.
The Moon goddess, curious by the new craftmanship invented by his son' s creation, turned herself into a young woman and approached. The woman who was weaving the nets looked up, surprised by the guest and invited her to sit beside her. The Moon goddess watched silently while the other kept at her work. Meanwhile a little ant climbed up one of a stick embedded in the ground upon the fire. Both of them noti ed and looked at it. Then , without warning, the woman lifted up a small bowl of water and poured a bit of it directly onto the side of the fire. The hot steam rose up towards the small bug, boiling it alive istantly. The Moon goddess looked at the woman, displeased by what she Just witnessed, asking her why she did that, what the ant had donne to her to cause such action. The woman smile at her condescently, like one does to a naive child or to a demented person, and answered "I don't know". The goddess, without a warning, picked up a spiky stick and drive it in the woman's lower abdomen. The wound started to bleed. The woman looked up to the Moon goddess confused and in pain, the Moon goddess told her that from now on she would have bled every month like that.