True North

I vaulted from the bookshelf edge straight onto the study desk, drawn by a soft metallic glint. Resting open beside an unfolded map was a heavy, antiqued brass pocket compass. Naturally, my instincts told me to test its bearings. I planted my boots firmly on the knurled rim and tapped the beveled glass casing with the tip of my toe. The slender, two-toned steel needle twitched, spun in a lazy silver circle, and locked dead-straight toward north without a flicker of doubt. I leaned back against the polished hinge, watching the luminous tip hum in the dim lamplight. Solid guidance. I always know where I'm headed.