Bruno the beetle was a wanderer. He had traveled farther than any beetle in his colony, crossing fields, forests, and even a stream by riding on a floating leaf. But now he was lost.
The sun was hidden behind clouds. The moss on the trees grew on every side. He had no idea which way led home.
Then he found the compass.
It was lying in a bed of clover, its glass cracked, its needle spinning. Bruno crawled onto its face, and the needle stopped, pointing east.
"Follow me," a voice whispered.
Bruno looked around. No one was there. But the needle seemed to glow faintly, pulsing like