O'Brien snatched the jewel. Arnsen stared at him.
"I'm not going to eat it. What—"
The boy grinned. "It's my luck piece, Steve. My lucky charm. I'm going to have it pierced."
"Better take it to a jeweler first," Arnsen suggested. "It may be valuable."
"No—I'll keep it." He slipped the gem into his pocket. "Any luck?"
"The limit, and I'm starving. Let's get back to camp."
Over their meal of fried trout, O'Brien fingered the find, staring into the cloudy depths of the gem as though he expected to find something there. Arnsen could sense a strange air of withdrawal about him. That night O'Brien fell asleep holding the jewel in his hand.
His sleep was troubled. O'Brien watched the boy, the vaguest hint of worry in his blue eyes. Once Doug lifted his hand and let it fall reluctantly. And once a flash of light seemed to lance out from the gem, brief and vivid as lightning. Imagination, perhaps....
The moon sank. O'Brien stirred and sat up. Arnsen felt the other's eyes upon him. He said softly, "Doug?"