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"Father," she whispered, "I am not ready. Do not go, please do not go." She placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart beating weakly. His eyes narrowed, focused on her face. She smiled through her tears. He took her hand in both of his. The time had come. He sighed regretfully, admiring her smooth skin, her strong and able hands. He pulled them to his face and brushed them against his dry lips.
"Child, my precious child. You must let me go. You are but a dream."
"You don't know what you're saying."
"I do, child, I do. The sunshine, the birds in the trees, the grass underfoot. All of these were my companions, but they were not enough. I am a thief."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a glance.
"I have gone to Valhalla and plucked its prettiest flower. You are young, and have yet to live. Go back, that you may be granted life. You are the dream of an old and lonely man."
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