Page 58 of Eternal Thorns

“Figure it out, old friend.” Rowan's smile held centuries of wisdom. “Though I suspect you already have.”

Thorne just grumbled in response.

He circled Thorne slowly, moss armor catching moonlight as he studied the guardian's transformed appearance. “I'd almost forgotten what you really look like. Been a few centuries since you've let the frost melt enough to show your true form.”

“Stop staring,” Thorne muttered, but his power flickered with something like pleasure at his oldest friend's obvious approval.

“Can't help it.” Rowan grinned. “It's like seeing spring return after endless winter. Next thing you know, you'll be dancing with the dryads again.”

“I never danced with the dryads.”

“Oh really?” Rowan's laugh rumbled like distant thunder. “Shall I remind you of that midsummer festival when you got into the fermented moonflower nectar and decided to teach everyone the proper way to greet the dawn?”

Thorne's form scattered briefly in embarrassment. “That was six hundred years ago.”

“And I've been waiting six hundred years to see you this alive again.” Rowan's teasing tone softened to something more genuine. “Your hair moves like moonlight on water again. Your eyes hold forests instead of frost. Even your magic feels warmer.” He gestured at the silver patterns flowing across Thorne's skin. “Though I notice certain marks glow brighter where someone's fingers recently traced them.”

“I will freeze your moss solid.”

“Worth it.” Rowan settled against a nearby tree, looking enormously pleased with himself. “Besides, your threats lack bite when you're practically glowing with happiness. Does your human know what it means when forest spirits manifest their heart-form around someone?”

“He's not my human,” Thorne protested automatically, then caught himself as Rowan's grin widened. “And this isn't my heart-form, it's just-”

“Just the form you take when you feel safe enough to be real again?”

The accuracy of that observation hit deeper than Thorne wanted to admit. But looking at his oldest friend's obvious joy in his transformation, he couldn't maintain his usual defenses.

“I've missed you,” Rowan said quietly. “The real you, not the bitter guardian you've been pretending to be. Welcome back, old friend.”

“I haven't gone anywhere.”

“Haven't you?” Rowan raised an eyebrow. “The Thorne I used to know loved teaching, loved sharing forest magic with anyone who showed genuine interest. He laughed at sprite pranks and danced with dryads and let himself feel things without fear.” His smile turned gentle. “That Thorne is standing right here, crown of branches and all, because someone finally reminded him it was safe to exist again.”

Thorne's power rippled with emotion he couldn't quite contain. “When did you get so annoyingly wise?”

“About the same time you got so annoyingly stubborn.” Rowan pushed off from the tree.

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.” Rowan's eyes twinkled. “You're literally glowing with joy right now. Can't hide anything in that form, remember?”

And really, what could Thorne say to that? His oldest friend had always seen through his defenses. The fact that he was choosing to drop them anyway felt like its own kind of healing.

Left alone again, Thorne continued his preparations with almost desperate energy. He found himself choosing phenomena that would challenge Silas's quick mind while rewarding his natural insight. Places where their magic might need to work in close harmony, requiring those moments of physical proximity that sent silver sparks dancing through the air.

“This is ridiculous,” he told a particularly knowing oak tree. “I'm acting like some young sprite with their first crush.”

But he didn't stop. Each location he prepared felt like a gift he couldn't wait to share, a chance to see that pure wonder light up Silas's face again. Even his magic had taken on an eager quality, responding more warmly to each adjustment.

Thorne found himself drawn inexorably toward Thornhaven's boundary. Light moved in an upper window that he knew must be Silas's room.

He realized that he had begun thinking of Silas ashishuman. The possessive thought should have terrified him more than it did. Instead, he found himself hoping Silas felt the same growing sense of rightness in their connection.

“You're mooning about like a lovesick fool,” he chided himself. But his true form remained stubbornly visible, crown of branches catching starlight while patterns of warmth and longing played across his skin.

Mine,some ancient part of him whispered.Mine to teach, to protect, to cherish.

“Guardian?” Briar's voice came softly from nearby. “The shadow entity grows stronger near the eastern borders.”

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