An Expedient Remedy
Standing at the edge of a precipice, a man looked down. There was much that needed doing, getting down the cliff for one, and he did not know where to start. It was information he lacked — was there, for example, a path down? For another, just how much of the cliff face would he need to explore before the way made itself clear? And what would he eat in the meantime? His stomach rumbled. All about him were ripe red berries on shrubs and mushrooms on and under trees; but which were poison and which were safe? A fine mess, this. All his own doing. Naturally. Not so much in a direct sense, but rather indirectly. He had, after all, chosen his own friends. There was little that he c...