Her moon swung around in front of her head.
The moons had swung west, and the slow stars.
The moon, a thinning crescent, swung into sight behind them as they wound out of the trees.
Above her, beyond the brightening sky, the moons swung through a field of stars.
He let go of the sticks-and after a moment the moon swung back into view.
An hour passed in misery, while the moon swung in the sky.
She angled her head so that the moon swung into full view.
No sun or moon swung across the changeless sky.
Now all was dark, a ghostly white moon swung lazily above the town, and in the brush a night bird called.
Time wore on as the moons swung through the sky.
