Number Five awakes to biting cold as snow falls around him in fat white tufts, piling up thickly upon the limbs of trees surrounding him. The white blanket upon the ground is unmarred by any footprints or other disturbances that might indicate how he came to be out in the forest, and the soft grey sunlight does little to illuminate this particular mystery.

In front of him is a path, determined only by the deliberate clearing of trees to the left and right, snaking through the forest in either direction. What does he do?