implied by perfect lawns stretching between carefully tended hedges, you’re most likely to reach a palace and all the wealthy comforts that suggests. It’s not the worst of choices, having a full belly as you prepare for a dry bed. Turn around, and you’ll see the woods, a dark path twisting somewhere undefined through taller trees than any fairy tale ever proposed, where there could be wolves, salivating at the thought of tender youth, or a clearing with a witches hut and its waiting oven. Or maybe the wolves are sent to guide you to a mage’s rooms, a home-school full of wonders so unlike those of a rich man’s towers. It’s your choice, of course, but from here, nearer the end of my days than you to the start of yours, I know which way I’d take.