Caspian didn't bother announcing the teleport. With the baby nestled securely in one arm and Seravine clinging to his arm like a spider with no sense of personal boundaries, he snapped them both through the fabric of space and reality.
With a rush of displaced air and a sound not unlike a wine bottle being uncorked by a snobbish sommelier, they landed back on the surface—more specifically, in front of the old, huge tree they descended into.
Surprisingly, the high elf was still there. Not just loitering, mind you, but dramatically posed in front of a rock like he'd been modeling for an imaginary oil painting titled "Man With Sword, Waiting for Destiny."
Estes turned, his crimson white hair cascading behind him with a flair that could only come from someone who used wind magic solely for hair volume.
He held Caspian's sword—the one he had demanded as "payment" for his previous assistance—cradled like it was his firstborn and also a rare bottle of elven wine.
