“Soon,” muttered the dying man.
Albert Fingerstick was 199 years old and tired of life.
Baroque was Albert’s dog, and he never left his side while he was awake. “Good boy,” the man said as he rested his hand on the dog’s head.
Albert had no idea that at that very moment, his sister was rushing to be with him. If he had, he might have tried harder to hold on a little longer.
The moon rose above the tree tops, and the dying man smiled at its beauty. “I’ll miss you the most, Sister Moon,” said Albert, then he let out a long sigh, and he was gone.
The dog pulled away from his master’s hand and walked outside. Raising his head, the hound gave a long soulful howl, and soon a tall dark figure appeared beside Albert.
Baroque watched as the reaper lifted Albert up and out of the cottage.
The dog howled once again as the figures glided across the sky, disappearing among the stars.
Anya arrived knowing her beloved brother had taken flight. “Why couldn’t you have waited?” said the woman.
Anya placed a coin on each eye for the ferryman, then wrapped the body in its bed sheet.
“Come, Gojeck, it’s time to send him on his way,” Anya told her husband.
Placing Albert’s body on a pyre, Gojeck poured spirits all over the sheet.
Dropping a glowing ember onto the pyre, the woman spoke a prayer. “With this flame, I release you from your earthly bonds and send you to walk among the sunless lands.”
In a flash, the pyre was aglow, and Baroque howled a farewell to his master.
“Come, boy, time we close up the house and head home,” said Gojeck to the dog.
Anya stood by the pyre until all that remained of her brother was a pile of dark ash, then she turned and walked away.
“Time we be off, husband. Come Baroque,” said the woman as the three walked into the night.
There would be much to do in the days to come, but for now, tea and a warm bed were needed the most.
Folksburywoods 
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