"Sorry I kept you waiting, Briar." His name slips out, not the usual gruff 'boy,' without Rosethorn even realizing. She tightens her grasp on him, then pulls back, putting her hands on his shoulders as she studies Briar's face.

Rosethorn had only a few short minutes of mourning before being told Briar was safe. He didn't have that assurance. Briar has been here for who knows how long thinking he lost her. Her fingertips dig in a little more than she means them to as she checks him over, making sure he really is alright. She almost doesn't want to lose that contact, the tactile confirmation that Briar survived.

When she finally lets go, Rosethorn leaves a tendril of magic connecting them, hooking her power onto the edge of his. It's unnecessary, practically speaking, but the feel of familiar magic is a constant inpouring of relief. She can't quite bring herself to give it up just yet. And if he's been here on his own, Briar may appreciate the connection as much as she does.

"How long?"