[ Francel unwittingly makes himself easy to spot among his less diligent peers, visibly doing his best to meet at least Mr. Slafyrsyn's realistic expectations despite his self-consciousness, and Zephirin's gaze tracks his movements for a moment, curiosity lingering. Inevitably, he witnesses the wobbling, not without dismay when Francel stumbles, narrowly avoiding toppling over.
His question answered — Francel's schedule indeed happened to coincide with his own today — Zephirin raises one hand slightly while the other boy is looking his way, a subtle wave in greeting and an apology for distracting Francel. Then he turns away, drawing up his left leg for a stretch, the right. He moves on to lunges. Beside him, Guerrique has already dropped to the floor, noisily determined to manage Mr. Foulques's fifty push-ups in one go. Adelphel, unimpressed with their teacher's demands, takes his time stretching until Mr. Foulques, making his rounds through the hall, passes their row.
Fifteen minutes into the lesson, much of the class seems pushed to the brink, flushed and breathless, knuckling sweat out of their eyes — Guerrique included. Though he paced himself, there is a touch of colour in Zephirin's cheeks, too, and a break halfway through for some water can't come quickly enough.
For now, they face their next set of instructions, fortunately easier on them as Mr. Slafyrsyn intervenes once more: in pairs, a tennis ball between them, they'll hone their hand-eye coordination. ]
no subject
His question answered — Francel's schedule indeed happened to coincide with his own today — Zephirin raises one hand slightly while the other boy is looking his way, a subtle wave in greeting and an apology for distracting Francel. Then he turns away, drawing up his left leg for a stretch, the right. He moves on to lunges. Beside him, Guerrique has already dropped to the floor, noisily determined to manage Mr. Foulques's fifty push-ups in one go. Adelphel, unimpressed with their teacher's demands, takes his time stretching until Mr. Foulques, making his rounds through the hall, passes their row.
Fifteen minutes into the lesson, much of the class seems pushed to the brink, flushed and breathless, knuckling sweat out of their eyes — Guerrique included. Though he paced himself, there is a touch of colour in Zephirin's cheeks, too, and a break halfway through for some water can't come quickly enough.
For now, they face their next set of instructions, fortunately easier on them as Mr. Slafyrsyn intervenes once more: in pairs, a tennis ball between them, they'll hone their hand-eye coordination. ]