True Bearing

I positioned my boots along the straight edge of an open brass compass resting on the console table. Before logging the room's orientation, I caught the needle trembling off-mark, twitching erratically toward three steel staples dropped near the wood trim. Unclasping my shield, I brought its curved rim forward like a small plow, sweeping the metal debris two full handspans clear of the casing to neutralize magnetic interference. With the field clear, the slender needle swung smoothly on its pivot and settled dead north, pointing straight toward the front entry. Bearings calibrated. The perimeter line holds true.