Asher Hawthorne had arrived in Eldervale west-southwest of Veyrhold, and unlike several of the second-years who had likely spent their first moments praying, screaming, or pretending they had not almost broken something during the drop, he had landed alone.
He preferred it that way.
The teleportation spell had released him through a lower section of canopy, not gently, but not high enough to make the landing difficult. He had twisted, caught a branch with one hand, burned through a cluster of leaves with a small snap of blue flame when they blocked his sight, and dropped to the ground with only a minor scrape across his forearm.
After that, he had done what needed to be done. He checked his field bag, inspected his communication insignia, unfolded the academy map, studied the sky through the breaks in the canopy, and used the slope of the terrain along with the old road markings beneath the roots to estimate his rough location.
Then he started moving.
