Work Text:
Leaves and foliage crunched beneath the faded leather boots of the traveller, the path he followed equally as distressed. It was spring time in the valley again; a time of new beginning, of growing and change, but the trees stayed the same, the tumbling hills welcoming back an old friend.
He paused a moment, simply to cherish his surroundings. Birds, robins and blue jays, sang the songs - his songs - of last spring, the sun sprinkled speckles amongst the oak leaves and the unforgettable scent of the soil blended with the blooming honeysuckle. The changes of the season were everywhere. A heavy sigh left his mouth, an unnoticed weight leaving his shoulders.
The spring was back, and so was Snufkin.
The young traveller continued on, slowly and silently. Birds continued their chatter, following the familiar hat from above, awaiting his talented playing. The flew to rest on branches for the boy to notice, though a glance at his features frightened them, starting a panic amongst the followers, flurry of confused cries and flapping wings. But he paid them no attention, for it was just a small amount of hills to that familiar blue house; and just a few steps until Moomin.
The name spooked his heart, earning it a jumpy beat and Snufkin quickened the pace, grip tightening around the straps of his rucksack in fear, evident by small dents in the material. In the years before, the boy would not have shown his eagerness to be reunited with his friends, let alone run. But now, there was a desperation in his heart, one he thought at first would be mended by his solitude among the silent woods.
The winter had been long. It started a small twinge inside, one he often felt after his farewells; the small, sad smile of his friend, the warmth of the hug; white fur between his fingers, at peace in the others arms, and then the sudden cold - the empty - with the reluctant separation. As the vagabond left for his own path, he expected the feeling to do the same. But it stayed with him, reminded him of its presence, and each night, picked at his dreams; his unquiet mind.
Each song the boy played on his harmonica reminded him only of those green hills, the gorgeous sunsets and the quiet nights beneath the stars, laughing with Moomin.
The twinge began to tug, before it became an inescapable yearning in his heart for the valley.
He felt hurt and lost and confused. And as uncertainty clouded his mind, the emptiness spread throughout his whole being, as sudden and harsh and unavoidable as a storm at open sea.
And as Snufkins mind threw itself from peace and sense, without the comfort of anything at all, he began to fade; brushed under the rug until the river itself could not frown back at him.
His voice left soon after, his breath too weak for a tune.
The little bobbing hat decided at this very point that it was time to return.
And so, here he was, pushing branches and wrestling bramble, forcing pathways through the underbrush, anything to make the last stretch shorter. His breathing grew rapid and shallow. twigs tore his already mangled coat. The steps became too fast, his legs argued over who went next, and he was flung to the ground with a solid thud!.
Snufkins mind was spinning, he had winded himself on the fall. The phantoms of his hands stung, as well as one knee; he was suddenly thankful of their transparency, though he could feel the torn skin.
Slowly, he picked himself up, and found his hat laying in a shrub. He was sore, filthy and exhausted, wanting nothing more then to crawl into a hollow log.
But a glimpse up changed that, as he realised where he was. He pulled his hat down, hiding his hidden head, looked only to the floor and began his way to that old bridge with a slow, but steady, limp.
————————————————
Moomintroll had woken worried on spring morning. Birds had chirped, the sun had shone, and the scent of Moominmammas first pancakes of the season had filled his senses. But something was missing, something important and very constant was gone.
It was the first day of spring, which had brought many things - warmth and fishing and food - but there was no melody to welcome his awakening, there was no Snufkin.
Thoughts had crossed his mind, scenarios where the little traveller had decided to visit a distant tropical paradise, rather than him. Moomins spirits dampened, a brief flicker of doubt in his eyes, quickly gone with the call of his mamma.
It was while Moomin ate his seventh pancake when Little My caught sight of someone over the bridge. The troll looked up fast, and true as bob, there came the mellow tread of green that was Snufkin. He pushed himself up and away from the table, nearly toppling My from the force, and sprinted away without excusing himself. The disgruntled girl steadied herself, grumbling at the disturbance, Moominmamma and pappa simply glanced to each other; a shared understanding.
Their son continued down the hill, he had been worried, if only for a short while, about the worst. Now, all he wanted was to see Snufkins huge and mellow eyes, that hint of learnt wisdom within those hazel pools, and that small but genuine smile.
“Snufkin!” yelled the excited and happy creature.
He stumbled, regained his balance, and slowed down, reaching the bridge. It was a small distance when he finally looked to the green nomad, his clothing was torn and dirty. He leant against the rail, evidently for the limp, disrupting his stride. On the other side of the river, his pack lay abandoned and the boys signature green hat covered his face.
“Snufkin,” Moomin slowed the pace more, as the other stopped in the centre of the bridge. The other raised his head at last to look into his friends eyes, though Moomin could not say the same thing.
——————————
Thoughts rioted in Snufkins mind. He wanted to run but wanted to collapse, so he chose simply to stay still. He didn’t know how Moomin would react, and he didn’t want to explain - that is, if he could.
Through his blurred vision, he saw the fuzzy shape of the troll move towards where he stood, what looked like concern glinting in those eyes.
The vagabond tensed, awaiting the onslaught of questions he did not want to answer - what happened? are you alright? Won’t you tell us what’s wrong?
“Oh, Snufkin.”
Instead, a pair of warm arms folded around his frame and pulled him close.
“When you’re ready, we’ll fix this. Together.”
A shaky breath escaped Snufkin, followed by an equally unsteady inhale. His weight slumped against the soft comfort of his friend, hands gripping at the white fur.
Clad in torn clothes, he buried his face into Moomins neck and cried.
The emptiness and loneliness of the winter came cascading out in their tight embrace.
They parted, though still kept their hands together. Moomin spoke up, “Come, pappa is telling of his time at sea and mammas made pancakes.”
He began to lead the tired traveller, though now with an overwhelming relief to feel familiarity, slowly back to the rest at the house. They took their time, with the mild limp and sore knee.
“Although first, mamma can help that knee of yours,” he looked down to their intertwined fingers,” and while she’s at it, those grazed up hands.”
Snufkin felt a little less empty that spring day.