A Quivering Needle

The little brass latch of the mantel clock swung open under my beak, and I stepped out onto the wide cedar shelf. Resting flat beside an old leather notebook was an open pocket compass, its circular glass face catching the soft morning glow. Inside, a slender blue needle floated in complete silence. I paused, tilting my head to watch its tiny tremor. Taking two quiet hops across the wood grain, I nudged the milled brass rim with my beak. The needle gave a sudden, delicate shiver, spinning halfway around before gliding gently back into place. Watching it sway felt wonderfully peaceful.