#//i like the idea that the rite of thorns basically barkskinned everybody and then grew around them and they all become actual forest

[bruinescence]

do whatever you need to do ,  hurry .

He could see why one might take the lapse in action as hesitance on his part, especially after the golden flash of light that so often foretold of a coming transformation settled heavy in the wood elf's guarded gaze. Only this time, instead of the transitional phase of gnarled limbs and the cracking and resetting of bone structure- only subtle as it was brief, Halsin remained rooted to the spot he'd taken up in one of the four doorways leading from the temple corridor to one of what he could only assume was of many inner sanctums. Four entry points on roughly the same plane with no discernable exit point from behind seemed a rather odd choice as far as architecture went, though it was not his place to ponder on the meanings behind ancient, Sharran dwellings. Granted, he wouldn't have the means to ponder on the idea much longer even if it would have settled in like the dust about the place after they'd made a hasty retreat into the odd nook once the then floor (now ceiling) had crumbled beneath their feet.

Well...'their' as in both he and the unfortunate tail-end of their line of explorers, and 'unfortunate' if only because the front of the brigade had possession of the moon-lantern whose light did not seem to want to follow the two that the earth had swallowed. The shadows would not complain about that. "Quickly-our backs to the enclosure!" He had not delayed a moment in stirring upon impact even while still finding his footing in the rubble of the lower floor, knowing too well how quickly the shadows of the curse could take hold like roots pushed up from the ground and eager to snag any attempt at retreat. From what he recalled upon their plunge into the shadow-cursed lands thus far, it was Shadowheart who seemed thoroughly unbothered by the dark hunger within the curse most, and yet for all of her grace, it would not serve to shelter the storm of the shadows that wished for his blood to finally join those he had failed to bring home some odd century ago. "-I must shut them out before they take hold-" The others would find them, to that he had little doubt...but there simply was no time to wait on a rescue mission lest he be torn to shreds from darkness that would seep into veins and then painfully razor outwards.

Once within the enclave of many doors, he briefly focused on her command that stood out amongst the emptiness he'd welcomed to invite full concentration to the matter at hand. There was a temporary way to protect himself from the curse outside of the light...the same manner in which his misguided successor had sought to shield the grove in her delusions, though on a less permanent scale thanks to him being the only druid in the room. Doing so alone and with no guarantee of rescue would be a death sentence. A steady exhale and a twitch of shoulders was about the only response he could muster to the cleric as his eyes continued to glow golden in the dark like the many flashing gazes of nocturnal beasts. The ground rumbled questionably, but he remained rooted to the spot as the magic within his chest swelled with each concentrated effort. Think of nothing...be nothing - nothing but a way of closing this space off from the world. Hide it from everything and hide within it. The druid's thoughts pulsed as mindless as a heartbeat that from one final, throbbing pulse- emerged a great row of thorns and vines erupting from the cracks in the floor about his feet and spreading into a wall that spanned all four doors.

"Spinae rituale-"

Though, unlike a regular wall of thorns, this particular wall kept spreading wider and thickening to fill each door frame twice over and more with vines as thick as the Archdruid's arms. Together, they wound round each other in intricate knots that sought to choke out every bit of air and space and hints of light between them. There was no stepping back from the spreading Oaken Father's embrace either seeing as its source of evocation had already sealed his feet to the floor with the first layer of vines. Though, when the stake like thorns began to erupt about to help solidify the room's defenses, Halsin did not move even when sharp edges speared at him and ripped parts of his druid gear with wooden daggers. The portions of flesh revealed along with the journey from his neck to his jawline were of a stiff, oakish gray bark that only further helped stabilize him in the midst of the thorn rite.

By the time the burning, black flames of the curse had begun nibbling away at the outside of the barricade of thorns, Halsin was already fully integrated into the living wall, though the glow in his gaze dulled ever so slightly as he stared ahead at some fixated point beyond the gleam of her armor. Until the others came with the lantern, he could hold steady against the curse eating through to him as an apple core did against an inchworm. Perhaps the rite would outlast a short rest or even two.

The vines continued to squeeze tight and wrench against themselves to the creaking and grinding whisper of a thought grown over and sealed in a thicket's shadows: 'who am I in your temple?'