"Good-bye," your mom calls out the open door. "Don't forget to stay on the path. The woods are dangerous this time of year."
As a cold autumn breeze stings your eyes, you pull the hood on your red cloak up over your head and tie it tightly. Then you pick up the basket your mother prepared and set off down the path through the woods.
Before long you get to a fork in the path. It's been a while since you visited Grandma, and you don't remember the way from here. The left path looks well-worn but dark in the shadows of the trees lining it. The right path is warm and sunny, but there is grass growing across it; this path probably hasn't been traveled in a while.