Page 44 of Eternal Thorns

15

WATCHING AND WANTING

Acrow landed beside him, offering its enhanced sight. Through its eyes, Thorne caught the first clear view of what had his forest spirits chirping with such excitement - the bracelet. His bracelet. The one he'd personally woven with magic to mark trusted human allies, now sitting on Silas's wrist as if centuries of division meant nothing.

“This wasn't part of the plan,” he told the crow, which clicked its beak in what might have been agreement.

Ancient trees bent ever so slightly toward the young noble, their magic recognizing something that Thorne himself refused to acknowledge. Even the twilight flowers, traditionally loyal only to their guardian, turned their faces toward this intruder as if he carried the light they craved.

“He approaches differently,” the Elder Willow's voice drifted through his consciousness. “Surely even you must see that.”

“I see a threat we're allowing to walk freely through our defenses.” But the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

Because she was right. Where Marcus had moved through the forest with entitled confidence, Silas stepped carefully, each movement a request rather than a demand. The magicalpathways responded to this approach, offering clearer routes when met with genuine respect.

“Your form betrays you, old friend.” Rowan materialized from a nearby oak, gesturing at Thorne's shifting appearance. “You can't even maintain a single shape while watching him.”

Thorne forced his power to stabilize, but the effort cost him. Every time Silas interacted with forest magic, every time the bracelet flared with recognition, Thorne felt his carefully maintained barriers crack just slightly.

“Shut up,” he growled at Rowan's knowing look.

Thorne tracked their progress deeper into the forest. His sprites had already abandoned any pretense of hiding, drawn to the combined resonance of key and bracelet. Their light-speech carried clear impressions of excitement back to him.

“You chose to observe rather than interfere,” the Elder Willow reminded him. “Though I suspect that choice grows harder with each moment.”

Every fiber of Thorne's being yearned to manifest fully, to confront this intruder who dared awaken such dangerous hopes. But he'd already made his decision.

The evidence kept mounting in Silas's favor. The way he responded to the sprites' presence with genuine wonder rather than calculation. How naturally he adapted to the forest's shifting paths, reading intention in every altered route. Even the protective magic woven into the grove's heart responded to him as if recognizing an old friend.

“The bracelet shouldn't accept him,” Thorne said, more to himself than his observers. “Those spells were tied to specific bloodlines, specific intentions.”

“Perhaps it recognizes both,” the Elder Willow suggested. “He’s an Ashworth, Thorne. Blood and intention aligned properly for the first time in centuries.”

A burst of silver light drew their attention. The key around Silas's neck had flared in harmony with the bracelet, creating patterns of power that made Thorne's ancient heart ache with recognition. He'd woven those very patterns with Marcus, back when trust between realms had seemed not just possible but inevitable.

“He's going to find the journal.” Thorne's voice came out rougher than intended. “The bracelet will lead him right to it.”

“As it was meant to.” The Elder Willow's presence brushed against his consciousness like leaves in wind. “The real question is whether you're ready to face the truths it contains.”

Before Thorne could respond, shadow spilled into the grove like ink through water. The entity had arrived, drawn by potential ripe for corruption. But something unexpected happened as it reached toward Silas with tendrils of borrowed memory.

“Now that's interesting,” Rowan observed as the shadow entity withdrew in apparent frustration. “It can't seem to twist his perceptions the way it did with Marcus.”

“Because he's not looking for power or validation,” Thorne clenched his jaw as he realized. “He's just trying to understand.”

The forest paths shifted again, guiding Silas toward the ancient oak where the second journal lay hidden. Toward truths that could either heal or shatter what remained of Thorne's carefully maintained defenses.

The dryads spoke of how their trees swayed toward Silas's passage like flowers tracking sunlight. Earth spirits reported the very soil responding to his steps, ancient magic stirring in recognition. Even the typically aloof stone guardians sent impressions of something long missing finally returning to its proper place.

“He's doing it again.” Rowan observed.

“I'm doing no such thing,” Thorne snapped, but the evidence betrayed him. Branches had shifted to create clearer passages, roots had smoothed their tangles, even thorny undergrowth had drawn back slightly from Silas's chosen route.

A burst of familiar magical signature made him focus through a particularly attentive crow's eyes. Briar had abandoned all pretense of stealth to dart closer to Silas. Her freckles strobed with excitement as she examined the bracelet, her light-speech spilling recognition and joy into the forest's awareness.

“Traitor,” Thorne muttered, but the word held no heat. How could he blame her when the forest itself betrayed similar enthusiasm?

“Your magic keeps reaching for him.” the Elder Willow noted.

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