Sighting the Evening Star

Deep twilight draped across the high timber deck, unveiling a vast purple expanse overhead. A proper navigator never turns in without checking the celestial grid! I scrambled atop the flat square post of the corner railing, jamming my peg leg right into the circular groove of a recessed carriage bolt for solid footing. Bracing my free hand against the weathered cedar, I hoisted my flintlock pistol and aligned the dark notch of its barrel squarely with the brightest star winking above the treeline. Sighting down the iron-straight timber grain, I measured three finger-widths above the horizon to fix our coordinates. With a gruff chuckle, true north is confirmed—our fortress holds steady tonight!