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Thornley's response was swift. He believed in concluding agreements quickly, and time was of the essence if they were to keep this excursion secret from their father - he was a busy man, it was true, but also a wise one who would realise soon enough that if both sons were missing, they were certainly up to no good. And if it were revealed that they were chasing after the stuff of legend, superstition...magic - the worst of ‘no good’ there could be to the Earl of Ashford - dire, dire days would be ahead. Though Locke revelled in infuriating their father, Thornley could not take his fiery scorn. "Done. We shall leave straight from this degenerate place."

Despite the horses, the journey was long - the sun has still been high in the sky when they had left the estate, but endless paths had led them deep, deep within the canopy. At some point, the shade of the trees had segued into twilight and was swallowed by the black of night, punctuated only by the dull glow from fantastical sources that he wilfully did not acknowledge. Despite the foreboding atmosphere and the lengthy time they'd spent wandering the wood, Thornley was in a remarkably good mood the entire trip, and the encroaching darkness had not dampened his spirits - it had been an age since he had come out riding with his little brother, chatting about their plans for the day and staying out far too late for deer-hunting, almost daring what loomed in the night to come challenge them. No, they were invincible, as children, they played and they laughed and they were invincible with each other.

Thornley had been reliving this nostalgia eagerly, pointing out every little detail to Locke, freely relating any thought that even just briefly flitted past his mind: the fragile evolution of a chrysalis, the subtle beauty of a damsel with a just-bared shoulder, the strange lope of a wild rabbit, the attractive humbleness of a house a peasant built himself - out of nothing, really! "Just like old times," he repeated countless times, sometimes with a chuckle and sometimes with a wry sigh. "Just like old times - don't you think, Locke?" And he turned his head to him briefly, smiled fondly, and continued on their way with a laugh and more empty observations.

Thornley never noticed that he kept turning back to speak to his brother - unlike Locke, his strong hands were comfortably wrapped about the reins, posture as relaxed as one could have while riding a horse at such galloping speed. The unease (or whatever it was that he'd never pinpointed) had given way to a strange feeling of liberation. He rambled on about the economy and the oddness of those flowers yonder, sometimes even neglecting to look forward as he steered his steed by instinct.

At this moment though, he did; the mere existence of the tree had him stop short in the middle of describing the pretty new chambermaid, and led to a colourful expletive of horrified astonishment. It was otherworldly, bizarre and absolutely teeming with magic: cryptic markings twined about its trunk, lighting the dark just as those inexplicable Wolf-stones did, and it was so massive and all-encompassing that it could not be ignored. They had since stopped their horses, and though Thornley desperately did not want to recognise that such a strange tree was reality - his reality - and stranger than he could've ever imagined.

The anxiety returned as Locke's slim frame disappeared into the tree, and Thornley called after him in alarm, repeating his name twice before accepting what he'd know, dismayed, that his brother was beyond hearing him now. He turned his vision to focus on the oddly-coloured stones that clustered about the tree, and almost recoiled in deep-seated astonishment. They too, like the tree's carvings, glowed, and were distinctly shaped.

He turned his head away, resting an arm upon his stallion as he waited for something to happen. The desire to follow after him was strong, though he was honestly unsure whether it was due to his brotherly concern, or the inexplicable draw of the things hanging upon the tree. He would not be embroiled in this magic - ankle-deep was deep enough, and Locke, regrettably, probably knew exactly what he was doing.

He hated to be kept waiting - it was something that he had never done as a child, and he had very little patience to begin with, much less situated next to a glowing tree that was pouring streams of unease into his core, as if the bright carved tendrils had seized him and sliced into his chest while he merely stood there, minding his own business (and of that of his brother's). He had never felt so much like engaging something he desperately despised, clamouring up after Locke to see just what foolish deed he was committing up in an obviously unnatural tree. The desire - need - pulled at him, almost willing his limbs to turn and start on scaling the shining bark.

He turned, but had given in a bit too late. Locke slipped down through the branches as lightly as Thornley expected him to, though his movements were rather more weary and sedate - so, he knew, he had accomplished whatever atrociously magical goal he intended to. He approached as he touched ground, then narrowed his eyes at the stone clearly of very specific form Locke held close.

"What is this?" He asked warily.

"Good." Thornley stated, about to leave the decorated abomination and believing he was quite ready to forget this entire ordeal - the encounter had drained him of all goodwill and joy he'd experienced in the journey, and it would be a long, dark, quiet one back.

He committed to turning away, he really did. His feet had started to lift, but something had drawn him and insisted he stay. He stepped backwards, even a little frightened by this supernatural urge. He stepped back, and looked away, but he could not bring himself to go. There was unfinished business and this...this tree would not let him escape it.

"Locke," he admitted, breathing shallowly in his bewilderment, "I - I simply cannot leave."

Thornley was lost in inhuman desperation, and hadn’t known he'd sought his approval until it was given - Locke was so clever...if that is what he decided, it had to be correct. And so his body finally moved in the right direction towards the hulking tree, his strong arms lifting almost mechanically to seize a branch, and then another, and his sturdy weight made the deer-stones littered about sway. At times he closed his eyes, shutting out the blinding glow from all directions as he climbed ever higher, and opened them to find that the need to continue moving had not ceased - onward, onward until the wave of emotions slowed and steadied.

And now he was completely baffled by what to do with a little group of totems, the prettiest little sculptures bizarrely dangling like they'd grown there on the tree. Yes - Locke had descended with one in his grasp, and perhaps he was meant to take one too. There was no choice, it merely was that he reached out for the stag that, like him, glowed with gold.

It was taken; he slid down quickly, exhaustion taking its toll on his limbs and his body rugged enough to take the reprimands of the tree, smacking him for callously shoving past other precious totems. Thornley landed heavily, his stag grasped to his chest.

"It is done, Locke." He held it to the moonlight, examining its delicate markings with a mix of awe and confusion.