Smokey fire crackles between you and your father up into the night sky above, the bright shine of the stars twinkling across the night sky, and the tall nearby trees looming over your forms. It’s a gorgeous night, one you would probably recount in the journal Arthur had given you for your birthday a few years back.

Right now though, you could care less about how beautiful the scenery looks. Now, you’re more preoccupied with trying to make Arthur explode with your mind as he hums under his breath, the rabbit he killed and skinned earlier roasting over the fire.

He had brought you out here under the guise of “familial bonding”, something you had scoffed at while loading up your horse. You know now it’s his way of getting out of your anger at having been left behind at camp again. While you were stuck under Grimshaw and her never ending chore list, Arthur went out and did things you’d only read about in newspapers and borrowed books.

To make matters worse, you couldn’t even get the juicy details from the source. Whenever you asked about the mission’s Arthur went on, he would either make up a story or tell you he’d tell you when you were much older. The excuses had worked when you were five, but now, at thirteen, you were more than capable of figuring out your father’s dismissive lies, even if he didn’t believe so.

Arthur continues to ignore the sour look on your face as he brings the rabbit’s leg away from the fire, the smell of grilled meat filling your noses. He looks a little worse for wear in the light of the flames.

“You sure you’re not hungry? You haven’t eaten in hours,” he tries again, glancing up at you. His gruff voice softening as he pushes the meat towards you.