Pipp the Sharp

Pipp had not always counted.

When she was small, she just guessed whether she was winning — a feeling, a glance, a hope — and her guesses were wrong as often as right. She'd FEEL like she was ahead and run for home, only to find she'd been behind and should have held. She'd feel behind and give up, when a count would've shown her winning. Her feelings kept steering her the wrong way, and she'd scrunch up small, sure she just didn't have a knack for knowing.

An old squirrel, quick with numbers, hopped up beside her one evening. "You're steering by a FEELING," she said, "and feelings about who's winning are wrong half the time. So half your plans are backwards." She tapped each piece, adding as she went. "Watch — I add up how far all my pieces have to go. Then all of hers. Two numbers. The smaller one's ahead. Now I KNOW, and I can't be fooled." She nudged Pipp. "Don't hope you're winning. Don't dread you're losing. COUNT — and let the number tell you the truth, so your plan fits what's really happening."

Pipp learned to count — to add up each fleet's distance home and let the number tell her who was really ahead — and her backwards plans turned into the right ones, every time. The uncertain, guessing feeling settled into a sharp, sure clarity. She'd never lacked a knack. She'd only been steering by a feeling, when a count was right there.

She walked to PipQuest when she was old enough, because it was a place for voyagers who liked to know exactly where they stood.

Peg, the mentor, met her at the dock and asked her to show what she knew.

Pipp didn't say clever things. She looked at a muddled board where no one could tell who was ahead — and she counted. Tap, tap, tap, adding up her distance home. Then his. Two numbers. "I'm ahead by six," she said. "So I'll run." And the count was right.

"You didn't guess," Peg said.

"I counted," Pipp said. "The board looked close, but the numbers didn't lie. I'm ahead by six. Now I know what to do."

Peg smiled. "You belong here."

A young mole came to Pipp one afternoon, muddled and cross.

"I never know if I'm winning!" he said. "So I never know if I should run or hold or fight! I just... do whatever, and it's usually wrong!"

Pipp knew that muddled feeling all the way down. She'd steered by guesses for years.

"That's because you're GUESSING who's ahead," she said. "Let's count instead. Add up how far all your pieces have to sail home." She helped him. "That's your number: thirty-eight. Now hers: forty-five." The mole's eyes widened. "So I'm... ahead? By seven? But it FELT like I was losing!" "Feelings fib," Pipp said. "The count doesn't. And now that you KNOW you're ahead, you know your plan: run for home." The mole ran, confident now, and won cleanly.

"I didn't have to guess anymore," he breathed. "I just... counted, and knew, and then I knew what to do."

"That's the whole thing," Pipp said. "Don't hope, don't dread — count. The number tells you the truth about who's winning, and the truth tells you the right plan. Knowing beats guessing, every single time."

The mole counted his races after that, and his muddled crossness turned into a sharp, sure calm.