Tormented

Tormented

The morning drifted by peacefully as the sun climbed higher into the sky. Zelnard loved being beside the river, away from the stone walls of the monastery and the ever-watchful eyes of the elders. The gentle current, the calls of birds overhead, and the quiet company of his friends made the world feel wonderfully simple. But that peace was soon interrupted by a familiar, and very unwelcome presence.

Peace rarely survived for long whenever Dunstor was nearby.

The older boy appeared at the edge of the beach, his broad, muscular frame silhouetted against the bright sky. Ever since turning fourteen he had taken great pride in building his strength, and he seemed determined to remind everyone else about it.

His familiar sneer appeared before he even spoke.

"What are you doing down here, Zelly?" he called loudly. "Playing at being fishermen? Shouldn't you be back at the monastery doing chores?"

Zelnard felt his good mood evaporate.

"We're learning water magic," he replied, forcing himself to stay calm. "Ferson brought us down here to learn."

"Well, Ferson should know better," Dunstor scoffed. "You's lot'll never learn nothing."

He wandered casually toward Gavid, who had just begun reeling in his line.

Then, with that familiar malicious grin, Dunstor grabbed the fishing rod.

"Oops."

He yanked sharply.

The rod slipped from Gavid's hands, splashed into the river, and bobbed once before the slow current carried it away.

"Looks like you need a stronger grip with those little boys' fingers," Dunstor sneered.

He brushed off his hands as though touching Gavid's fishing rod had somehow made them dirty.

Gavid's face crumpled.

His shoulders sagged as he stared helplessly at the disappearing rod. Only moments earlier he had been smiling. Now all that remained was disappointment.

Anger bubbled inside Zelnard.

But instead of shouting... an idea appeared.

"Elder Ferson," Zelnard called casually. "Is this how you cast a line?"

Without waiting for an answer, he drew the rod backwards as though preparing for a perfect cast.

Completely by accident...

...the hook caught the back of Dunstor's trousers.

Zelnard flicked his wrist. 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.

RRRIIIPPPPP!

The tear was spectacular.

It raced from Dunstor's back pocket almost to his thigh, exposing one pale backside cheek and a pair of ridiculously long, ill-fitting white undergarments for the entire riverbank to admire.

For one glorious moment...

Nobody spoke.

Then Jabar exploded.

He laughed so hard he fell sideways into the sand, clutching his stomach while tears streamed down his cheeks.

Gavid pointed at Dunstor's ripped trousers, letting out a high-pitched squeal of pure, uncontrollable joy. His lost fishing rod was completely forgotten.

Even Ferson turned away for a moment, coughing suspiciously into his fist as though trying very hard not to smile.

Zelnard couldn't help himself.

He smiled too.

Not a polite smile.

A genuine, triumphant, thoroughly satisfied smile.

Dunstor stood frozen, his face burning crimson with embarrassment as every eye remained fixed on his torn trousers.

Thy Quests
Embarrassment stopped Dunstor in his tracks, but do you think Zelnard did the right thing? Explain your answer in Thy Quests to continue the adventure.