Whispering Woods has a hundred paths and every one of them looks like the right one until you are standing on it. Hope has walked the edges her whole life. Today she means to walk the middle.
She has packed carefully, the way she does everything: the map, a flask, two biscuits in case the walk takes longer than planned. What she has not packed is anybody else, because asking felt like admitting she could not manage.
Brave is not doing it alone. Brave is letting someone see you try.
Then an old tortoise on the path asks where she is headed, and listens to the whole answer, and says he happens to be going that way too. He walks very slowly. Hope discovers she does not mind.