[size=9pt]Death came quietly. A slow, seething heat that took hold of his body and set him alight from the inside out, till his skin sat, boiling, over insides that turned molten with fever. He lay under the covers of his bed and stared at the ceiling as his body turned in on itself. It was nothing for the books.

Fevers took away clarity. Had Moon of died any other way, of any other sickness, he would’ve known it was happening. He would’ve thought about his life, like they did in the movies. He would’ve thought about who he loved, everything he hadn’t done yet. He would’ve been scared. He would’ve fought it.

But he was foggy in his last moments. His body shook violently where he lay, curled in on himself, and he thought, oblivious, of what he’d have to do in the morning. Agathe and Titan would have to run everything, tomorrow. He’d send someone to the Cleric’s Hide to find something to fix him. He’d get someone to make sure Har ate. He’d get someone to make sure Gabe wasn’t fucking dead. He’d get someone to run patrols, set up the training session, keep the place from burning to the ground while he recovered.

But he never did rise from his bed. When the new November morning came and shone its cold rays over his freckled, golden face and the birds started up their fluttering choir, the light faded in Moon’s too bright eyes and from dried, parted lips, he shuddered his last breath. He’d been made under the moon— best to go under the sun.

Death in the air, a quiver in the Force, Anakin could feel it. The lion rose out the ground outside Moon's home, the dust forming into a cloudy lion, and moved past the others, phasing through someone to stare at Moonmade's lifeless body. White eyes looked down upon it, a paw reaching out and casting over it.
He's not with the Force... He's passed on.

He turned around, looking at the crew.
"My his soul pass on at the starpool." Anakin vanished, his spirit returning to the starpool to wait on them.