It’s stormy, and the clouds are covering the sun. He was in Robsworth when he returned home from a hunt for food; Roberto, known as Rob, was sent out by his father with only a wooden stake and a small leather bag. 

He had entered the shack–the one place he called home–he was on high alert but calm.

“What have you brought for me, boy?” 

Confidently, Rob replies, “Enough venison meat for two days.”

The menacing man Rob called his father is now looking at the pitiful pile of meat laid in front of him. “Do you think this pesky meat is enough for us, son? Do you?” Konrad–his father–said with his voice raised.

A shameful cloud covered Rob, “I promise, I can get some more in the morning.”

“In the morning? No, son!” Konrad had shouted as he slapped him. Roberto winced in pain. “You do not tell your father what you’re going to do. You are my son, and you do as I say!” He shouted out to Rob as he crossed his arms.

A sliver of silence before Roberto acknowledged that he understood him. 

“No supper for you, my boy.” Konrad nodded, “I will not feed you if you don’t act tough.”

Rob immediately sprinted to his room, tears filled his eyes, and sorrow hugged him. His room was filled with filth, cobwebs in the corners of his room. A decaying rat's corpse, laying on the floor, maggots crawling in and out. His bed, which was laid next to the rat, was just a long strip of hay. A small duvet was as thin as sandpaper strung over the hay bale, without a pillow.

In the kitchen, Konrad had begun cooking the slab of venison over a rusty, terribly kept stove. “You’re missing out, son!” Konrad would call out to Roberto, listening to him cry. Konrad was a horrible father. He had no remorse for the son he had raised as a tool. 

Then a sudden bang at the front door made the whole house shake. 

“Rob, answer the door,” Konrad shouted.

Roberto sighed as he ran to the front door, which revealed a small messenger pigeon laying on its side. Its wing bent out of shape, and the pigeon struggled to move it. On the floor next to it was an envelope labeled “President Conrad.” 

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“It’s for you, Dad. They spelled your name wrong.” Rob would say with a smirk.

“Are you kidding me? Those posh toffs couldn’t spell my name right if their life depended  on it.” Konrad grunted, but Rob chuckled. He noticed and called him out, “You think this is funny that they don’t respect me?” Konrad grabbed his son by the collar, “Do you not know anything about respect?”

“Put me down, Dad! I didn’t mean it!” Rob was scared, and Konrad dropped him.

“Next time, I’ll throw you out the window,” Konrad roared. “You disrespectful young man. Now throw that stupid letter in the fire. I want it out of my sight.”

“That’ll make a mess, Dad, let's bury it outside,” Rob suggested.

Konrad put his head in his hands and sighed. Rob looked embarrassed and said, “Was that not a good idea?” 

Konrad would turn to Rob and put his hand on his shoulder, “Son, you have come up with a good idea, go bury that letter and get out of my sight.” 

Rob smiled, “Alright, Dad!” 

Konrad then raised his voice, “Quickly, Son.”

Roberto opened the door, forgetting about the injured pigeon and he glanced down. “Oh dear, you poor thing,” Rob said in disbelief.

Rob picked up the injured bird and set it down in a basket full of leaves. He fished out a piece of cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around the bird’s injured wing. “You’ll be okay, my friend.” Rob smiled at the bird. Rob then walked over to the side of the house, acquiring a shovel. He dug up a hole, but then stopped suddenly and opened the letter.

“Dear President Conrad,” Roberto laughed at the first line.

“You’re invited to a feast at the castle in Chepstone, and I wish to speak to you regarding our alliance and relation to one another’s country. The feast will commence on the 25th day of January at the hour 1800, I will be pleased to see you if you wish to attend. 

Yours faithfully,

Alfred Fenwick."

Rob then folds the letter in half and slips it into his front pocket. He throws the empty envelope into the dug-up hole and fills it with dirt. Rob grabs the basket containing the injured pigeon and walks back inside.

“Thank you, Son. You did something helpful, for once.” Konrad scoffs

“Thanks, Dad, um I’m going to have an early night. Enjoy your venison.” Rob says with a smirk.

“I sure will!” Konrad laughs.

Rob walks backward and slowly toward his room. He laughs awkwardly with each step holding the basket behind his back. Rob makes it safely to his bedroom and closes the door quickly and quietly. Rob then put the basket on the floor before peeking at the letter in his pocket. He remembers an old map his father had given him years before. It’s stored away in a dusty box on the top shelf of his bookcase. The box is a simple wooden crate with a cover. It’s covered in dust and cobwebs. 

Rob was relieved to see the old map still in its place after many years of being forgotten. He excitedly opens the map, and his eyes skim across it, eager to find Chepstone. Once successful he grabs a leather bag filled with water and food as if he knew this would happen. He stuffs the map into the bag and climbs out the window of his bedroom without making a sound.