The warm darkness shivered and he was alone in the night again. The unseen object was heavy in his hand, its edges digging into his flesh where icy fingers curled around it. The natural noises of the evening began to reassert themselves in querulous birdsong and the distant barking of dogs.
He realised he was drenched in sweat and started looking round for a park bench. He settled for a grass tussock instead, ignoring the dew dampness in the seat of his trousers. Painfully, slowly, he forced his fingers to open to reveal his prize.
A lozenge of glassy metal – impossible to tell the colour in the moonlight – lay in his palm. Something about it drew the eye so that it felt like the centre of the landscape. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and thrust the object into his coat pocket, then he lay back and closed his eyes briefly, exhausted.
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