The Mountain’s Quiet Compass

The cartographer’s note ended abruptly: “The circle is not a door.” Beneath it, in a different hand, someone had added, “It is a hearth.” The traveller understood when the unicorn stepped across the glowing rim and lowered its head. No kingdom opened. No spirit rose. The mountains simply drew closer, stone by stone, until the wind became warm. They stayed there through the night, sharing the world’s oldest comfort: a small light, and someone willing to keep watch.