“Arthur!” Merlin yells as he sprints. “Where are you? There’s a bear!”
He probably shouldn’t have started running, but it’s too late to stop now. He prays that his feet keep nimble and his legs stretch further than they’ve ever done before. His chest heaves with each breath, his whole torso twisting as he reaches, dodges, leans forward through the thorny shrubs, tripping downhill over uneven tangles of undergrowth and logs and loose stones; sprinting, leaping… he has never run so fast in his life. And yet, the hulking mountain of muscle moves faster, its hot breath right over his neck, claws scraping at his ankles.
Then, it’s over. Something slams into Merlin’s back, as heavy as a tree trunk, and he smacks down hard, all the air crushed from his lungs at once. He scrabbles forward on his hands and knees and spares a last thought for Arthur, admittedly a pathetic wish that Arthur might appear just in time to raise his sword against the enemy, as he so often does. But Arthur does not come.
Chapter 17 of Amber and Wild Thyme now on AO3!