A Compass on Canvas

Waking up inside the canvas duffel bag felt like stirring in a cozy mountain camp. I poked my head over the sturdy zipper rim to see what my slow expedition might need next. Resting on the floor just outside lay an old pocket compass attached to a braided cord. Crawling out with careful, unhurried steps, I hooked one curved claw under the smooth brass ring and nudged it closer. The glass face caught the pale morning light, and beneath it, a slender silver needle quivered softly, settling toward the hall archway. I rested my chin flat against the cool metal casing, listening to the morning hush while the needle held its steady, patient course.