The dark green was a colour that Elsa associated with the soft moss growing near streams, soft enough to sleep on if the weather was dry. Maybe, in another life, the one she had forgotten, she might have thought differently. Glancing at the robe, at Roran's fingers lingering on it and then back at her face, Elsa came to the conclusion that her mother was lost somehow, probably dead. Again, her mind sorted this away for future use, reflectively, and when she stopped to ask herself why, she had no good answer. Her mind played a game of which her concious self did not know the rules.
Smiling as a way of thanks, she held her breath when more steaming water flowed into her tub. It rose well beyond her breasts now, and if she bent her back a little more her whole, weary body was immersed in it. Elsa tried to smile at Roran as a way of thanks, but delicious lassitude was spreading through her limbs and she could only manage a slight motion of her lips. Her eyes slid shut before she could focus enough to stop them and when Roran spoke again, it took Elsa a moment to realise. But she couldn't make her eyes open, somehow she felt safe here or maybe the warm water was just increasing her weariness tenfold.