Run Chicken Run

Previously

…It was the rhythm of accomplishment, of quiet victory. He wasn’t the same chicken who had fled the coop in blind terror. He was still Pip, the chicken who sometimes worried about beetles with too many legs, but he was also Pip, the chicken who had walked across the farmyard, who had spoken to a grumpy gnome and a bouncy dog, and who had found his way home. He took his first step towards the coop, a little wobbly still, but with a newfound steadiness in his stride. Brave, he realized, wasn’t about never feeling fear. Brave was about feeling it, acknowledging it, and then doing the thing anyway. And he had done it. He had done it anyway.