The Brass Compass

Claws slipped inside from the damp cedar bin! Scuttle across the rug. Straight to the heavy oak desk! Hop, scramble up the carved drawer handle—high perch claimed beside the green banker's lamp. Stop. Resting right on a leather blotter is a heavy brass compass. Head tilt! Sharp pause. I creep forward on clicking talons, inspecting the hinged lid. Cautious hop. I plant my left foot on the cool metal edge, hook my right curved talon under the tiny brass catch, and pry upward. Click-snick! The lid springs open with a sharp metallic snap. Underneath the glass, a slender black needle quivers, spins twice, and points straight toward the open doorway. Dynamic needle mastered!