But my legs, these four audacious gray tubes under my torso, they couldn’t stop bringing me into danger territory. Clearly, they didn’t get the memo when I preached for self-preservation. Here they were, digging into the soil, confidently pushing me toward the place I feared most: The fountain. That archaic circular landmark plopped smack down in the center of Outer Grove’s main plaza. Thanks legs, very cool. Ugh. Weren’t they aware that patching a hemorrhage with courage alone was just fairy tales?