Merlin really hated hunting trips. He hated the mud. He hated the cold. And he hated the smell of an animalâs blood after Arthur shot it. And he really hated the way Arthur made him hold the carcasses across his back, like he couldnât feel their tiny bones shift beneath the skin and their smell getting progressively worse - the combo just making him nauseous.
They had been out all day and what do they have to show for it? A rather poor excuse for a hare. Grumpy and tired, Merlin stared at their catch accusingly. âMy, arenât you impressive.â He called to Arthur over his shoulder. âMy lord, I donât know how weâre going to carry this grand catch back to Camelot.â
Merlin huffed indignantly and moved to sit beside the King. He was tempted to complain about how sitting on the ground made his back hurt, but decided Arthurâs reply wasnât worth it. Then again... sometimes he only complained because it bothered Arthur, which was hilarious.Â