"I am starting to get the feeling that hot and cold springs are the least of our worries when it comes to the strange occurrences in this place." Jumping off a wall and landing in a strange alleyway worlds away from England or the simple act of taking a bath leading to a similar outcome -- those both came to mind as being stranger than water temperature. Then there was the fact that after months of losing himself in quiet mourning of the loss of his wife, he was in the very same room with her; separated only by a hiccup of time.
When she left to get the welcome card, Robin tore a few lengths of the strange fabric and twisted the knob that upon last inspection expelled hot water. Letting the fabric warm and saturate, when she returned, he reached for her empty and injured hand. Glancing over the writing, something about it's finality was unsettling. Home. This wasn't home. England was home. Sherwood Forest was home, Locksley Manor was home.
Did being with Marian mean having to abandon all that? Did either of them even have a choice in the matter?
Removing the stained, but dry cloth she'd placed there earlier, Robin gently drew the dampened one over the weeping wound. He hadn't asked permission, but there were going to be husbandly traits he'd have to work on controlling, or that she'd have to learn to live with. Protectiveness was going to be one of them. A smirk wore through his seriousness at tending to her wound when he answered her question. "No, I did not." A new, dry square of fabric was placed down then to cover the injury. "At least there was no finely scripted card welcoming me to set up my own camp in the woods, nor at the cave I discovered when the nights grew even colder and the snow started to fall."
He was finding one drawback to this mystery fabric, it was impossible to tie without it breaking. Ever the quick thinker, Robin removed the leather cord from around his neck, small, marked wooden tag still attached. He wrapped the cord around her hand, holding the bandage in place and then knotted it.