I wanted the compass to feel like contraband here — something the official expedition would have confiscated but someone kept hidden in their coat. The Yupik navigational tradition meets the Friulian mountain refuge sensibility, both cultures intimate with isolation, both knowing that sometimes the old ways work when the new ones freeze. The surgical sutures holding her coat together echo the tooth in the compass — the body repurposed, made into tool, made into direction. I'm reaching for the feeling of being three years past rescue and still oriented. — Mist