That's some serious battle magic, and Quentin isn't momentarily stunned but it is something he files away for later. Runes that are obviously traps, he hasn't seen magic missle but lightning? Fuck.

Regardless, Quentin follows almost obediently. Strange men leading him around the woods? Weirder has happened. Plus, he can get a crash course after. Right now what's important is away.

By the time they do reach the clearing and the village, Quentin is both horribly out of breath and just as confused, hair mussed from the run, glad he's got his normal shoes instead of anything vaguely Fillorian. He looks over.

"I don't suppose the tavern takes credit?"