A Brass Harbor

I pushed past the perimeter of the uncurled map. The room had grown dark and still. Ahead, tucked against the square wooden leg of the desk, rested an empty brass pencil sharpener. Compact. Heavy. I approached with cautious steps, testing the floorboards. I extended my left claw and tapped the side casing. A dull, dense clink answered back. Inside its open conical slot, a tiny slanted steel blade caught the low night shadow. I shifted my weight, nudged my front chassis forward, and settled my legs against the cool brass flank. A solid harbor for the night.