E10 Q4 Tormented

The morning passed slowly, the sun climbing higher in the sky. Zelnard felt a sense of peace being out here by the river, away from the confines of the monastery and the ever-watchful eyes of the elders. But that peace was soon interrupted by a familiar, unwelcome presence.

The morning passed slowly, the sun climbing higher in the sky. Zelnard felt a sense of peace being out here by the river, away from the confines of the monastery and the ever-watchful eyes of the elders. But that peace was soon interrupted by a familiar, unwelcome presence.

Dunstor appeared at the edge of the beach, his muscular figure silhouetted against the bright sky. His sneer was as unmistakable as his swagger. “What are you doing down here, Zelly?", he said loudly as he approached. "Playing at being fishermen? Shouldn’t you be back at the monastery doing chores?”

Zelnard’s mood soured instantly. “We’re learning water magic,” he replied, trying to keep his temper in check. “Ferson brought us down here to learn.”

“Well, Ferson should know better,” Dunstor said, his tone dripping with condescension. "You never learn anything," he went on.  He walked over to where Gavid was casting his line and, with his silly malicious grin, grabbed the fishing rod just as Gavid was about to reel in. “Oops,” Dunstor said mockingly as he yanked on the line, causing the rod to slip out of Gavid’s hands and fall into the water. It landed with a quiet plop and disappeared beneath the gentle waves, the cork handle bobbing once before the current took it.

“Looks like you need a stronger grip with your little boys' fingers.” Dunstor said, the mockery now unfiltered and cruel. He dusted his hands off as if they had been dirtied by the mere contact with Gavid’s property, a satisfied, cold glint in his eyes.

Gavid’s face crumpled instantly. His shoulders slumped, and the excitement and concentration of a moment ago were replaced by the dull ache of humiliation and loss. He stared blankly at the spot where his rod had vanished.

Zelnard felt a surge of anger. But instead of lashing out, an idea formed in his mind. “Elder, Ferson,” Zelnard called out, keeping his voice deliberately casual, “is this how you cast a line?” 

Without waiting for a reply, Zelnard drew back his rod, aiming carefully. On the backward swing, the hook “accidentally” caught the back of Dunstor’s pants. With a quick flick of his wrist, Zelnard gave the line a sharp tug.

There was a loud RRRIIIPPPPP sound as Dunstor’s pants tore. The tear wasn't a minor one; the force of the pull, combined with the fabric's age and the sharpness of the hook, had ripped a long, jagged swath of material, clear down from the back pocket to his thigh, exposing his left cheek and some long ill fitting white undergarments for all to see. For a moment, there was silence, followed by Jabar, who had been sitting quietly braiding a hook to a new line, choked on his laughter, tears instantly streaming down his face as he slapped the sand. Gavid, his earlier misery instantly forgotten, pointed a trembling finger at Dunstor’s backside, letting out a high-pitched, hysterical squeal of pure, unadulterated joy. Zelnard smiled ...a genuine, deep, and utterly triumphant smile.

Embarrassment stopped Dunstor in his tracks but do you think this was the right thing for Zelnard to do? Explain in The Quests to continue.

E10 Q4 Lunch