[Entry XIX]

Old trackers say the Wayfinder was hammered from the same scrap of sky-metal that once housed the roadrunner spirit. When the wind shifts just right, you can hear that quick-footed guide laughing in the band, urging its wearer off the safe road. Follow the twitch of its arrow and you may find your way—or simply find yourself somewhere your fear would never have scheduled.

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The Wayfinder Ring is a small, disobedient compass.
It does not care for north.

Slip it on and the arrow wiggles,
sniffing the air for somewhere else.

It points past maps and tidy roads,
toward back-alley starlight and maybe-lands.

Left becomes larkside, right becomes rumorway,
and straight ahead is always why not.

If you’re lost, it giggles in your bones
and tugs your hand toward wonder— 
for this ring never points to where you should go,
only where your secret wanting
has already gone ahead.

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Record preserved by perilpoet 

Manifest the Wayfinder Ring here