Shooting Stars

The normally-intrepid boy entered the room uneasily, for he had never seen a man die. It was his grandfather Nicholas - an enigmatic hero already buried by decades of knightly lore - who awaited the corporeal quietus. He was lying in a seedy bed when the lad came near, and the old man knew this would be their final meeting.
"Come here, son," said Nicholas, lending a friendly arm.
The boy let his grandfather hold him, and, in turn, he rested a hand on the old man's stomach. It quivered feverishly, and the boy knew his grandfather's painless visage had deceived him. For that reason, Nicholas was just a dying old man to the boy, but to Nicholas, the boy, with his freckles and curly hair, reminded him of his own youth.
"Do you remember my stories, lad?" Nicholas began. "Yes, I told you my stories; now I will tell you my heart."
The old man pulled the boy closer to him, and the boy did not resist, for he wished to hear his grandfather's oldest secrets, his deepest emotions.
"I told you about the wars - the wars in galaxies far from here, the wars that ended the worlds we had. I fought, and I flew, but to tell you the truth, I wasn't there for that. I wasn't there to shoot ships; I was there to shoot stars. You see, from the days of my youth I dreamt of them - the stars, my boy. I dreamt of seeing them, seeing nebulae, seeing the rings of faraway planets, and, in time, I saw them all. But my dreaming is not over; no, the best dreams I've yet to have. So, before I take my final flight, promise me one thing, my lad."
"Yes, pap."
"Dream of me, because I will be dreaming of you, and together we will shoot the stars, and explore the universe, and ride comets round the suns of endless worlds. Dream, son; dream of the stars."
"Yes, pap."
Nicholas let him go. The boy left the room inspired, and so did Nicholas - to dream, to shoot the stars.