A Slanted Gleam

I nudged past the folded linen curtain into the morning sun pool. Resting flat on the dark boards was an overturned glass prism paperweight beside a slim silver pocket compass. I waited quietly, watching the bright spectrum glow on the wood. With a patient push of my nose, I tilted the compass casing until its brass needle unlatched, swinging in a silent, silky jitter. The tiny latch met the glass facet with a crisp, liquid ping. The cold crystal felt wonderfully soothing against my muzzle. Tucking both flippers flat beneath my tummy, I let my chin rest right along the chilled edge, watching the compass settle toward still calm.