You choose to go left, deeper into the woods. You get closer to the stream when the trespassing biker, who went left, met the Marb, and escaped, jumps out from behind a bush and points a revolver at you.
“You dare burn that book?” he asks through clenched teeth.
“What book?” you ask.
“That book! The one in the hut!”
He means Do Not Open. By now you are glad to be away from it and do not mind at all to let it burn. You explain what has happened to you with the book and tell him to leave it alone. The biker does not listen.
“I should shoot you now for leaving it to burn!” he says. He has been seduced by the book, cannot afford to part with it, and therefore is willing to kill if he cannot get his way. The biker pulls the hammer back till it clicks; he means business. You stand frozen in place, staring at the gun’s barrel.
Perhaps you can talk your way out of this predicament.
**This is where trails are mixed and paths are woven, Now is the place where a road is chosen. **
Three things come to mind: