Colonel Potter walked slowly towards his tent. Their latest O.R. shift had been agonizing... he could have sworn it was morning when he went in there, yet, the sun was just rising in the East. He sighed.

Suddenly a glint of something caught the old Colonel's eye, and he stopped. Though his back creaked and groaned in protest, he bent and picked up the stone that had begun to glint meekly in the light. Potter ran the pebble over his aging fingers and looked at it closely. The smooth, gentle swirls of pale color that Mother Nature had planted within it seemed almost soothing. It seemed as old and worn as his own bare hands. This small thing, he thought to himself, had been through wars probably since the dawn of time.

As he slipped it into his pocket, Colonel Potter's wise, creased face held a touch of a smile.

It was nice to have a companion who had seen as much fighting as he had.