Sorin's explorations of his new school took him outside, bundled in a jacket and some knitted mittens, and he walked around campus, admiring the architecture and observing students passing in groups or chatting with each other. Most people had been warm and welcoming since his arrival. Sorin was liking it there, confident that it was a good place for him and his friends to be taught about their powers.
His path took him away from the buildings and through a small wooded area before he broke out into a large open space that must be some kind of sport field. But instead of soccer players or pick up football games like he expected, Sorin was shocked to step out of the trees to a bright fiery display laced over the pitted surface of the field.
In the midst of it all was a dark haired tanned skin figure in white pants and Sorin watched him work, transfixed by the mastery the guy displayed. Sorin's friend who had lit the fires that had nearly gotten them all killed in Romania, burning some of them, marks Sorin would wear all his life on his arm, had not had this kind of control. Not even close.
The open use of power was something Sorin knew he could safely get used to. It was even encouraged in some cases at St. Margaret's. He smiled, hoping his presence wasn't distracting the boy in the field from what he was doing because he wanted to watch. It was pretty impressive.