Merlyn looked at the young man over the top of his glasses, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. If he was startled by the speed with which Pietro moved, he didn't show it. (In all honesty, though he would never have admitted it, his eyesight was too poor to have registered movement at all, and so he was assuming that the boy had merely teleported; something which, in the grand scheme of things, was far from unusual)

"A mutant? Why, no. At least, no more than any member of a species can be said to be a mutant; I am quite sure my genes show some variation from my parents', whoever those good people may have been." He holds his hand out for the wool, looking up at the damage the lightning had done to the roof. "I am a wizard, young man. Merlyn, by name."