There's a fork in the road, and the doe-eyed, spiky-haired mute pauses to think. He leans on his gigantic sword, frozen in indecision. Left, up through the craggy rocks? Or right? He has time to contemplate: No beast will attack while his feet remain firmly planted on the path. The world waits for him. If he does a jittery little dance, however, or paces back and forth, they will come.