A) Take the left path, surely that heads back toward the forrest edge.

Going back wasn’t an option, after all was he not a proud Robin, one of the Moot’s redoubt postal carriers?  As for going deeper in…surely those old ghost stories about deep in the wood were merely that, stories, but still it paid to take no unnecessary risks; he was sure the left path was the not-quite-well trodden route though.  Although, he reflected as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his red tunic and huddled his brown cloak around himself and headed off down the path, he really couldn’t recall this fork.  He could swear it hadn’t been there last time he’d come this way a two-month before.

Granted that had been at night.  And he’d been sloshed to the gills on Gaffer Applebelly’s homemade rhubarb and elderberry wine.  And his friend Benjy Badgerburrows has been leading the way.  But still! This fork had definitely not been here then and he was sure the road had curved this way.

Taking his pipe from the band of his hat, he fumbled for a match and his pouch of pipeweed; apart from a hearty meal and a good drink and putting your feet up in front of the fire, nothing beat a good puff on a winter morn.  He was onto his second smoke when he came across a clearing.

”Hullo,” he mused “You shouldn’t be here.”  A crunch of snow alerted him to an approaching figure and he ducked behind the nearest tree before the traveller saw him.  Curious as to who it could be, for no one could be up to any good travelling on this road at this time of year surely, he peeked around the truck.

The man slumped across the clearing, hunched forward and clutching something to his chest.  Definitely up to no good, nodded Sam to himself; no men would be in the Moot this time of year.  His brow furrowed as he noticed that the man wore tatters and dragged one foot behind him.  Some sort of vagabond maybe?  Or maybe the victim of a highwayman?

The man’s head lolled to one side and a gasp escaped Sam’s lips.  The face was cadaverous, the lips shredded and pulled back in a rictus grin and the eyes were milky white.  This was no man!  It was a zombie!

The zombie continued hobbling on, apparently not noticing him, and it was then that Sam realised that it hadn’t been travelling on the road but had been cutting through the forrest, and even Now was shambling into the side that he thought lay deeper in.  Chewing a thumb he pondered what to do:

A) Follow the undead creature to see where it was headed.

B) Follow the furrow it had left in the snow to see where it had come from.

C) Stay put and hide until it was long gone.

D) Head back the way he’d come; sod the parcel, this was just too dangerous.