It was such a strange sight. Above the treeline rose great shapes of iron and glass. They looked nothing like the castles of his homeland, nor the palaces he'd seen while abroad. What kings and royalty must dwell within them, what a wealthy land this must be to support so many. And here in the middle of this frantic world of solid black streets, fireless lights, and strange people -- solace in the way of a thriving forest. The paths that cut through the woods were clearer than what he was accustomed to. Obviously someone maintained these, possibly constructed them rather than foot traffic wearing them into the soil. The rustling of leaves worked to filter out the boisterous life that honked, shouted and generally bustled about past the borders of the park. The night air was cool, crisp... like a late summer evening at the camp in Sherwood. There'd be a fire by now, Much would be cooking, everyone else would be mocking him for it. They'd be discussing the plans at hand, however they'd be getting a step ahead of the sheriff, or how next they would be protecting the people of his own hamlet of Locksley. Maybe it would have been one of the nights when Marian was there. After she'd abandoned life at the castle, abandoned keeping up a facade to get them inside information. When she'd been there, at his side...
No. It didn't matter now. Here or England, Marian was dead. Now without his gang, Robin was utterly alone. As he tried to rid his thoughts of the painfully happy scene he'd constructed, the smell of roasting squirrel made it increasingly difficult. He could practically hear Alan claiming in disgust that he'd rather eat leaves than the blackened meat of a dead squirrel. But that echoing memory of a voice wasn't nearly as vivid as that smell. Robin's nose wrinkled and he inhaled deeply again. While it wasn't quite appetizing, it surely wasn't just some dream.
Following the wafting scent, he soon could hear the crackling life of a campfire and saw the flickering glow easily in the dark of night. It splashed off the rounded walls of the underside of a bridge up ahead. If he'd dropped into this place, could Much or the other have as well? It was possible, wasn't it? His feet stepped quietly, keeping off the path directly as he neared the bridge to examine just who was cooking under there.