He’d felt the magic in the air long before it ever even came close to reaching him. Its presence was always lingering, of course. Merlin knew that because he could feel it in the earth in the very same way that he could feel it in his bones. He and magic were one. Perhaps he had yet to truly realize that, perhaps he had yet to discover that his magic could not simply be lost for it made him, but it was the absolute truth. Here, now, though, the forest felt different — darker, perhaps. Every fiber of his being, every bone in his body, was telling him that he needed to turn back, to return to Camelot. His curiosity, however, had always had a tendency to overpower his common sense.
It wasn’t just curiosity, though. This was magic he was feeling and Merlin felt almost as if he should have been responsible for finding out just what was happening. After all, there was no telling what would happen if somebody less equipped to handle it stumbled across whatever the source could have been, or worse, somebody capable but unwilling to handle it in the right way — in the least savage way.
And so, rather than turn back and return to Camelot with his bundle of herbs as he had intended, he stuffed them carelessly into his bag, something he was sure to regret later, and started through the trees, looking about here and there and all over. Magic was, unfortunately, hard to pinpoint no matter how in tune you were with everything.
Something changed, though. The peaceful air the forest had held slipped away, squirrels and rabbits and even deer running straight for Merlin like they were on a mission — a mission to get away. What on earth was happening? Wide eyed, Merlin’s gaze darted downward and he stepped carelessly around as not to crush any small animals until, finally, he was able to duck off to the right and press his back into a tree. The seconds passed and it seemed as if things would back to normal.
Then the earth trembled beneath his feet.
It was a faint tremor, but it was enough to catch Merlin entirely by surprise and his legs quivered beneath him as he looked down to his feet. It died away and for another moment, the warlock stood there, his palms and back pressed into bark, taking in a deep breath and letting it out again as if that breath was so precious — and it was, for Merlin had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling.
Finally, he pushed away from the tree, hesitantly taking a couple of steps, but momentum returned to him as his confidence did and his moved more quickly through the trees.
Not long passed him by — ten minutes, at the most. Rustling to his right grabbed his attention and the boy froze, silently calling his magic to the surface should he need to defend himself. What he saw, however, was no man — no bandit, no serious — but, instead, a wolf.
No. Not a wolf, but a monstrous beast. There were no wolves that size, or perhaps there were and Merlin had simply never seen one. If there were giant baby rats in the world, then who was to say there were no giant baby wolves in the world as well? Merlin stood frozen to the spot for a moment, watching the beast carefully, who seemed just as intent and careful in his gaze. There was something else there, though — worry, fear. Fear for another.
Perhaps it was his own magic at work, or perhaps it was one of those ‘funny feelings’ Arthur claimed Merlin to have, but in that moment, he understood that this creature had something to do with what he was feeling. “What is it?” he asked the beast hastily, stepping forward and lifting his bare palms to show him that he meant no harm. ”Whatever it is, take me to it. Please.”
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