Merlin had been here just over two weeks now -- in Storybrooke, as he had been informed -- and while he had been able to find his way around quite easily, he had never felt at home. He hadn't wanted to feel at home either. It had been his own fault that he had found himself here. Yes, he knew just what the issue had been. His own magic had failed him in a way it never had before. A single spell gone horribly wrong, and he had found himself in this town.
He'd been adjusting, slowly. Incredibly slowly. After being informed of his situation by a select few who had turned out to be friendly, though, Merlin decided to keep his head down and continue to practice his magic down in secret. It was hardly new, of course -- having to keep it secret -- but this was different in so many ways.
The streets were relatively quiet today. It was the afternoon and children were still in school, learning of subjects that Merlin still could not comprehend -- learning of histories which had yet to come to pass where he came from. It was all confusing, but the air was just what he needed, and so he took the streets, walking at a comfortable pace as he cleared his thoughts.