The Brass Benchmark

I commenced the withdrawal march back toward the home threshold. Embedded dead-center in the concrete sidewalk lay a circular brass survey marker. A municipal geodetic monument. Heavy foot traffic had dulled its bronze flank to a muddy brown. Unacceptable neglect of an official coordinate. I planted my boots firmly on the pavement and grounded my spear in an adjacent expansion seam. Drawing a strip of heavy cloth from my belt, I knelt and buffed the metal disc in tight, disciplined circles. Tarnish yielded. The engraved crosshair emerged sharp and true. Overhead, my helmet crest mirrored cleanly against the burnished gold field. Sector coordinate verified.