It was quiet in the forest that day, like all of the birds had agreed to sing rather than chatter, and the trees had asked that the wind might not rustle their branches and leaves, and those creatures that scuttled to and fro beneath the mossy undergrowth had remained in their burrows, either snuggled up, or waiting at the entrance: it was quiet, but not unpleasantly so, as if all of nature had made a pact to create the most perfect atmosphere for the young lad who now came running haphazardly down the rough path, heading for the spot that all of the animals knew and respected: the smoothened stump of a long-forgotten tree that stood upon a small grassy knoll, and looked out over a sun-spangled glade and a grove of bluebells.

He plonked himself down, drew his feet up onto the edge of the stump and sat his chin on his hands, and began to regard the forest with those sparkling blue eyes that always gave away his thoughts, and which now revealed a half-thoughtful, half-perplexed expression. There was something almost comical in the way he raised first one eyebrow then the other, thinking over a problem he did not quite understand and could not hope to solve: but he liked to think, to sit here and mull over things, because it was so very peaceful, and because he could not stand his thoughts not being in order, at the least.

After a short while, when the sun had moved a little and now cast a bright unbroken ray straight before him, he smiled uncertainly to himself and lifted his head, letting his hands fall clumsily to his side. Still there was that whispering quiet; still nature bowed to his unspoken wishes. He did not truly notice it; he just assumed that it was always like this in the glade, regardless of who came to it. He sometimes wished there was someone he could share it with, but on reflexion decided that he liked being on his own here.

His eyebrows fluttered a little then, as his eyes went before his thoughts to look towards a slight noise in the brush beside the stump, and then there came a little dumpy young robin dancing through the branches, which, as it was early spring, were bare and crackly.

'Hello,' whispered the boy, who did not think he had before now made the acquaintance of this charming little bird.

He was afraid that he might scare it off, but it remained there, head tilted, staring at him quizzically. It was a curious youngster not unlike himself, and it had not chanced upon him but rather come to see him.

The boy grinned toothily and leaned towards the bird, which hopped onto the end of the tallest twig so that it was at eye level. They looked at each other for a moment, and between them there passed the thought that this was their greeting, the equivalent of a handshake betwixt men. They had got off to a good start. Now for the conversation.

'I'm Merlin,' said the boy, who was now kneeling on the stump. He had made a tear in the knee of his trousers but he did not notice it, so absorbed was he in making a new friend – indeed his first friend. 'After the merlin-bird. But I'm not a merlin-bird,' he added a moment later, 'so I won't eat you.' Then, with a quick smile: 'I was six a week ago. How old are you?' and though the robin did not reply he seemed to take its bob of the head as a reasonable answer. 'I hope we can be friends. I don't have any friends yet. There are boys in the village but they're older than me. And we're different.'

Here he sighed, and his chin fell once again onto his hands, giving him a look that on a child's face might have been humorous, but had he been older would have been called puzzled, overwhelmed, almost world-weary.

His eyes flashed from one side to the other, as if checking that there was nobody around, even other animals; then he said, a small amount of pride tinting his voice: 'I can do magic, look.'

Then he cupped his hands before him, and closed his eyes for a second; when he opened them again, they were lit by a flash of gold like a spark in a glowing hearth, and suddenly in his hands there was a warm flame that danced above his palms.

'See? It's magic. I can do magic.' After a certain amount of contained jubilation, he extinguished the flame with a puff of breath and beamed at the robin, which looked baffled but did not make any move to leave him. Then Merlin sighed again, clenching his fists below his cheekbones; his face plunged from his childish joy to a look of the most immense sadness. 'But Mother says I can't show my magic to anyone. I showed it to you because you won't tell anyone. Will you?' and he looked momentarily worried before saying: 'No, of course you won't. You're my friend.'

The robin bobbed its head again, and Merlin smiled in relief.

'I like doing magic,' he admitted. 'It's easy. And I can do all sorts of things. But I'm not allowed. Mother says it'll get me into trouble.'

The robin cocked its head at him, questioning him. There was a cheeky look to it, and Merlin felt he had a kindred spirit in this little bird.

'Not that I don't get into trouble without using magic,' he said, and gave his friend a lopsided smile. 'I'm clumsy. Like you, when you made all that noise going through that bush. And Mother says I'm too cheeky. Do you think I'm cheeky?'

The robin seemed to reply with something like No more than I am, which reassured Merlin. However, he then seemed to sink into his thoughts once again; his words had dried up, and there was a trace of some hidden sadness in his eyes, but the robin did not question it, knowing that if he wanted to he would speak in his own time.

'Mother says I'm different,' he said at last. 'I know I am. I feel different. Here.' His folded hand went to his softly beating heart. 'I don't know if I like it or not. But you're different, too. All the other birds fly away when I come. You're still here, and that's why we're friends.' There was a certain indulgence in his smile then, as well as a large amount of disbelief, as if he didn't think any of this was real. He had dreamt before now that he had friends.

Just then there was a rustling behind him; the robin looked panicked and flew off, and though Merlin extended his hand desperately, calling out the name he had picked for it (the somewhat unimaginative Robin), the bird did not return. Annoyed, he stood up, and turned to where the rustling had come from, and was astonished to see a boy standing there, looking guilty for disturbing him.

'Sorry,' he said, blushing a little.

Merlin knew the boy: he was ten, and so far older than him, and lived in his village. His name was William, but everybody shortened it to Will, because a long name didn't suit him somehow; they had never spoken before now, because of the difference in age, and because Merlin never really spoke to anybody, fearing that they would shun him because he was different. That word again...

But Will did not look as if he was going to shun him. He just stood there, on the edge of the glade, watching Merlin in distracted curiosity. At length he asked in a voice tinged with something akin to concern: 'Are you all right?'

Merlin nodded.

'I just thought... because... Tom didn't hurt you, did he?'

Merlin shook his head. 'I was faster than him. I came here, and he didn't find me.'

'I told him he shouldn't have said those things to you.'

Merlin was surprised. Not everyone said nasty things to him – far from everyone – but nobody except his mother had ever actually stood up for him before this. 'Really?'

'He was horrid to you. I had to say something.'

'Why?'

Merlin's innocent blue eyes shone into his rugged dark ones, and he shuddered a little, because Merlin's gaze was oddly piercing, and seemed to study his very thoughts, though he knew that was not possible. To this question Will merely shrugged and smiled.

'You made my friend fly away,' said Merlin accusingly then, his eyes going to the spot where the robin had sat, as if he expected it to have returned.

'Oh! Was that bird your friend?'

Merlin stared at him for a moment before realising that the older boy was not mocking him. That surprised him more than anything else that he had said. 'Yes. He's called Robin. He's my best friend.' He hung his head a little, and, with that painful honesty that motivates children to expel their deepest thoughts, added: 'He's my only friend.'

'Is he?' Will asked with pity in those understanding eyes. Merlin had never seen anyone except his mother look at him with such kindness. Nobody ever looked at Merlin kindly: he was clumsy, he got in the way, he was unusual, he was stupid, he was bad at everything – everyone he met told him so, and he had no reason not to believe them save for his mother's attempts to console him.

'Yes.'

'Oh, I'm not sure about that.'

'I am,' said Merlin stubbornly, frowning at the elder boy.

'Are you sure you haven't got another friend? A friend called Will?'

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again as realisation dawned. The older boy beamed down at him – though not far down: Merlin was tall already, tall and thin, which gave him an advantage in many situations – and held out a big brown hand.

The smile passed to his face, and widened across his cheeks and right to his ears; Will saw then for the first time the smile he had always known must be hidden behind Merlin's quiet thoughtful façade. His was an innocent, instantly likeable smile, brighter even than the sunlight that shone through the trees, and its very presence made Will laugh merrily.

And Merlin reached out, and clasped the other boy's hand, and they lolloped off through the woods, already inventing games to play together, things to discover together. That was what normal boys did, Merlin found himself thinking, as they descended into a game of tig and he was designated the catcher. Normal boys ran around with their friends and laughed and had fun and didn't think about the heaviness that lay upon their shoulders. Such deep thoughts as his were for adults to have.

He was a normal boy, he realised, he was normal this morning at least. At last he was liked and accepted, and being liked and accepted was all that would ever truly matter to him. He was different – yes. But that didn't matter, because Will was different too, because he had chosen to befriend and protect Merlin where others had ignored or bullied him.

He jumped on Will then, spotting his hiding-place from the catcher, and breathless and laughing they tumbled over; then they stood, brushing leaves and dust from their hair, and swapped roles.

And Merlin's flight took him right back to the clearing where he had sat, and as he swept through it a sudden thought occurred to him.

'Will,' he cried. 'Will.'

The other boy came up beside him, about to tig him, but realised that the younger boy wanted him to stop a moment. 'What is it?'

'When I was in the glade... were you watching me whilst I talked to Robin?'

Will lowered his eyes a little. 'Yes...'

'I thought so.' He furrowed his brow, perplexed. 'You didn't see...'

'Your magic?' Will asked.

'Ssh!' cried Merlin. Then, lowering his voice: 'You mustn't tell anyone. Anyone.'

And Will put his arm on the younger boy's shoulder, his face betraying a silent amusement, and a kindness deeper even than before. 'Of course I won't. We're friends, remember?'

Then Merlin, almost in tears, hugged him tightly, so overjoyed by the events of the day that he still felt as if he must be dreaming. He had a friend, a true friend. He had someone he could trust.

'I hope we're always friends, Will,' he said, retreating from the embrace.

'I hope we are too.' Will looked affectionately at the boy; then, smiling cheekily, said: 'You touched me. That means you're It.'

'Will!' yelled Merlin laughing as his friend sped off into the woods once again; and he sprinted after him, and there was dappled sunlight on his neck and arms, and among the birds that tweeted around him there was his robin, singing loudly about this chance encounter between boy and bird that seemed now so marvellously fortunate.