Caspian didn't need to pass through the gates this time—no flames licking at his heels, no riddles from dead-eyed sentries, and no sweet moments with the gigantic status. He was lucky he got to pass through unscathed.
He remembered the way—vividly, in fact—to the wonderful, echoing cavern where he'd left Seravine. He could almost hear her voice echoing in his mind, complaining about long he took. That woman just couldn't keep her mouth shut.
But as he tried to visualize the full layout of the cavern—the fireflies, the lake which is probably full of leeches, the stalactite that always dripped at exactly the wrong time—his mental image fizzled like a dying sparkler.
Instead of the place, he thought of Seravine. Her face. Her sarcasm. Her terrible flirting voice when she thought it adds to her non-questionable charisma. That seemed specific enough.
And so, with nothing but a flick of his wrist and a twitch of his eyebrow, Caspian teleported.
