Bigger Issues

Bigger Issues

Dunstor was furious with the smaller Zelnard, but his anger wasn't loud at first. It was cold, building quietly inside him like water behind a dam.

Behind Zelnard, there came a quiet plop from the lagoon only a few metres away. Both boys turned toward the sound and watched the faint ripples spread across the still water. Then Dunstor saw them—the tiny nostrils of the baby fesealon breaking the surface for a breath.

A slow, ugly smile crept across his face.

"What's that?" he sneered, already stooping to gather a handful of pebbles. "Another little thing hiding where it doesn't belong?"

Before Zelnard could react, Dunstor flicked a stone toward the water. Then another. He laughed as they splashed far too close to the frightened little fesealon.

"Stop!" Zelnard screamed, lunging forward and grabbing Dunstor's arm with both hands.

The contact was a mistake.

With a snarl, Dunstor—much bigger and stronger at almost twelve years old—wrenched himself free and shoved Zelnard backwards toward the rocky edge of the lagoon. Zelnard struck the stones with a heavy thud, the air exploding from his lungs.

Still seething, Dunstor picked up one last large pebble and hurled it at him. His aim was poor, but the stone still struck Zelnard's leg with a sharp crack that sent pain racing through his body.

Tears burned in Zelnard's eyes, but he forced himself to look up.

"You don't have to always hurt people to get their attention," he said, his voice shaking but steady.

Dunstor said nothing.

He simply pushed out his jaw, pursed his thin lips, balanced on one foot, and raised the other.

Then he kicked.

The blow struck Zelnard squarely in the stomach with such force that everything around him turned grey. The little air he had managed to recover vanished once more as he tumbled backwards into the lagoon with a tremendous splash.

Cold water rushed into his mouth and nose. He thrashed wildly, struggling to reach the surface, but the harder he fought, the deeper he seemed to sink.

Above him, Dunstor laughed.

"You're gonna go the same way as your waterlogged parents!" he shouted. "Breathing in water!"

Something snapped inside Zelnard.

It was more than anger. More than fear. A memory was forged in that instant—one filled with pity for a boy abandoned by his own family, but also with a deep, seething hatred for someone who could wield cruelty so effortlessly.

His eyes, usually clouded with sorrow, burned with determination. Fighting against the panic, he steadied himself, forced his head above the surface, and drew in a desperate breath.

Then, just as he prepared to swim toward the shore, he noticed something strange.

Dunstor's laughter had stopped.

The older boy's face had gone pale. His eyes were fixed beyond Zelnard toward the shadow beneath an overhanging tree on the far side of the lagoon.

The water there began to ripple.

Through the murky water, Zelnard saw it too.

A long, sleek silhouette glided silently toward him.

An adult Longmouthed Tyra.

Its body moved with terrifying grace beneath the surface, its hidden jaws leading the silent charge like a predator that had hunted these waters for generations.

Dunstor stood frozen on the bank.

He had finally realised the terrible truth.

The Tyra wasn't watching him.

It was hunting Zelnard.

Thy Quests
What does this scene reveal about the difference between power and strength in Zelnard and Dunstor? Use examples from the story to explain your thinking.