“Showoff,” Strange says gamely, absentmindedly — he’d never met anyone who’d shot a wyvern in an eye before, Thedas is shaping up to be Extremely Interesting — but most of his attention is still on the magical artifact as he conducts his investigation. Running his hands along the whorled edges and curves, gauging what he can sense. His probing sense for magic seems to be dulled in this universe, as with every other spell, but he still has a bit. The bow is oddly cold to the touch, the cold magic anchored in the very wood; but when he taps his fingertips against its end, trying to find wherever that ethereal string is anchored, he can’t quite locate it. Despite a nagging, annoying sensation that the bowstring must be just there, just barely out of reach, if he squints perhaps he’d be able to see it—

He’s a little disappointed that it doesn’t immediately materialise for him (he’s an impatient man), but then again, he hasn’t exactly been trained in the use of a bow. The Sanctum has no end of magical artifacts like this. He’d gone straight for them during battle like a dog lunging for a bone, even though he’d no idea how they functioned. He’s always curious.

“So this thing was literally just sitting in swamp water and you stumbled across it? By complete happenstance?” More bizarre things had happened, but he just has to confirm.