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Have you heard?
Snufkin fell down the cliff.
He broke his leg.
No, no, I heard he’s fine.
He’s dying.
No, you’re wrong, he broke his arm.
He’s already dead!
Joxter pulled his hat over his eyes. Birds. There exist no creature that loves gossip more than a bird. If they could just be quiet for a minute so he could take a nap in peace.
Most of the time, Joxter didn’t even listen to their inane chatter. He could just tune it out – it was a skill he was very proud of. However, the birds sometimes brought news about his son and he learned to listen for those.
Joxter knew that most of what birds said wasn’t true. They tended to exaggerate. Gossip was what made boring days more exciting and Joxter couldn’t blame them for that. Of course, Snufkin didn’t fall down a cliff, he had too much skill for climbing. Too much grace – that’s feline ancestry for you!
Days passed but the gossip didn’t die and that made Joxter worried. What if something bad really did happen to his son? Winter was almost upon them. Was Snufkin stuck in the Moominvalley with no means to leave? That would be pure torture for a traveller like the mumrik was.
Joxter was by nature a lazy creature. He was fine wherever he was, as long as he was warm, rested and fed. He didn’t need a roof above his head or company to keep him entertained. All he wanted was his freedom. The woods, the meadows, the shores of calm seas provided him with all of that so people called him a wanderer just like his son. The truth was he didn’t like travelling far, it was too much of a chore, way more tiring than staying in one place. Just this once, though, Joxter decided a longer trip wouldn’t hurt. And if he could pay a visit to an old friend at the same time? That’s just killing two gossipy birds with one stone.
Snufkin was sitting on the veranda of the Moominhouse, hot tea with honey in his hands and a blanket on his lap. The nights were turning quite chilly but he wouldn’t be going inside, not yet. The sky was clear and Snufkin looked at the stars shining bright high above him. The constellations told him stories of the past and hopes for the future. Snufkin lost in their tales almost missed the movement on the path leading to the Moominhouse. Almost.
First he saw two bright, blue spots reflecting the moonlight. It was just a flash, gone as soon as the mumrik looked at them. But soon after a red hat emerged from the shadows on the night and Snufkin couldn’t help the surprised look that crept on his face.
“Dad?”, he asked just to make sure.
“Can’t surprise you any more, can I?” Joxter climbed on the terrace over the handrail, graceful like a cat. “I used to be able to sneak on you.”
“Next time try hiding your hat, red is quite an eye-catching colour even at night.”
Joxter sat down on a chair opposite his son, stretched his arms, and leaned comfortably against the table.
“Look at you, giving me advice and being all patronising towards your own father. I suppose you’re alright then. Not dying, I mean. The birds lie too much.”
“Dying? Why would I be dying?”
“They said you fell down a cliff.”
“I did.”
Snufkin’s voice was calm, like what he was saying was just a matter of fact and not the shattering news that made Joxter’s head shot up from where it was resting comfortably on his paws.
“What?” The squeak that left Joxter’s mouth was like a nail grating a chalkboard. Snufkin cringed. “How did that happen?”
“We were climbing and Moomin slipped. I tried to catch him but we both fell down instead.”
“And? Did you get hurt? Broken arm? Leg?” Joxter looked at the was Snufkin was sitting, blanket on lap, nearly unmoving, and his face went ashen. “Spine?”
“No, no,” Snufkin answered quickly and wriggled a little in place proving he could move just fine. Well, mostly fine. “I twisted my ankle, rather badly. Doctor said I shouldn’t put any pressure on it for a couple of weeks if I want to be well enough to leave for winter. The Moomins were kind enough to let me stay with them so I don’t have to walk around looking for food and shelter.”
“That’s Moomins for you,” Joxter sighed and leaned back on the table. “So, how are you holding up? Stuck in one place?”
“Don’t remind me. They try to leave me be whenever they can but they are social creatures, especially Moomintroll. As much as I love him, I can’t spend the whole day talking. And sitting in one place. I’m tired. Night is the only time I can be alone with my thoughts with only the stars and the moon to keep me company but I would very much like to leave soon. I can’t stay for long or this place will start to feel like a prison. Hopefully my ankle will be better soon enough.”
“Hmm,” Joxter hummed, probably unused to hearing his son speak so much.
It only showed how uncomfortable Snufkin was growing. How irritated. Snufkin bit his lip and looked back to the stars, berating himself quietly for making Joxter worried.
Snufkin was grateful to the Moomins for taking him in and taking care of him. However, that didn’t change his nature. He was a loner and a wanderer at heart. He loved his friends dearly but he loved the empty forests and lonely seas just as much. If he didn’t leave soon, he would go insane or worse – grow to resent the Moomins for their hospitality and he would hate for that to happen. They only meant good.
There was silence for a couple of moments. The night’s warm embrace seemed to lull Joxter to sleep. Snufkin was starting to feel tired himself. It was time to go back to bed. He supposed he could stay on the veranda, but sleeping on a chair wouldn’t be very comfortable. Unlike his father who seemed to be able to sleep everywhere he could fit – Snufkin swore Joxter’s bones were made of liquid as he could fit everywhere, even in places so small that only Little My could crawl in them – Snufkin needed a flat surface.
As to not disturb his father, the mumrik rose quietly. Using first the chair then the wall for support he slowly made his way to the door.
“I could carry you, you know?” Joxter offered.
One of his eyes was open, observing his son’s progress. Maybe he hadn’t fallen asleep after all.
“There’s no need.”
But Joxter was already rising from his chair. He stretched and yawned and stretched again.
“That’s why I came here, you know?”
“To carry me to my bed?” Snufkin joked.
“To carry you out of the valley, if you needed help. To carry you anywhere you wanted to go, may as well be the bed.”
Having said that, Joxter snatched him, carefully, from his feet as if Snufkin weighted nothing. Lazy as he was, Joxter possessed a lot of strength. With how nimble he was and with his claws and sharp teeth he was one of the most dangerous people Snufkin knew. Possibly the most dangerous creature in the whole valley at this moment. That dangerous creature nuzzled his son’s face, yawning again for a good measure.
“Guess I’ll sleep here tonight as well. I’m rather tired myself.”
Snufkin directed them to the guest bedroom. They both took off their shoes and cloaks and headed for the bed, Joxter tucking his son in and then lying on top of the covers himself.
The quiet breath right next to his ear made Snufkin uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to company at night. Except for the couple of times when he was forced to spend a night or two at the Moominhouse when the weather turned bad and it wasn’t safe for him to stay in his tent. They were younger back then, Moomin insisted on sleeping in the same bed. Moomin was nice and soft and friend-shaped. Instead of feeling oppressed, Snufkin found peace in his company and liked to curl next to his friend, sharing body heat.
It was different with Joxter whom he didn’t spend much time with in the first place. However, when Joxter curled himself the way Snufkin usually did, back to his son, the mumrik found it not so grating after all. He could spend the night like this, he supposed. After all Joxter came to save him from winter even though it wasn’t really needed.
Careful of his leg Snufkin mimicked his father’s position and together they slept through the night, back pressing against back.
The next morning Snufkin woke to the joyous rays of the sun lighting up the guest room and a rhythmic pull on his hair.
“What?” Snufkin blinked slowly, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes to see what was happening.
“Don’t move,” Joxter mumbled. “Really, when was the last time you properly groomed your hair? It’s a mess, more than mine even!” Joxter tried to sound scandalized but there was a hint of humour in his voice. He stuck his tongue out and leaned over his son.
Snufkin shot up, trying to cover his head with his paws.
“I’m fine,” the boy insisted. “I’ll just use a comb, I’m sure Moominmammma has one!”
“That’s not a proper grooming way for a mumrik, come here, you can’t get away!”
He couldn’t, really, not with the way his leg was. Joxter pounced on him, careful as not to jostle the injured leg and pried Snufkin’s paws away. The cat-like tongue found its way through Snufkin’s hair making it even messier than it usually was. It was Snufkin’s turn to act all angry but the boy couldn’t help the chuckles that escaped his mouth between threatening his father and begging him to stop. The last time Joxter groomed his hair was when Snufkin was still a child and even back then it was more of a game than grooming. A mumrik’s hair isn’t the same as a joxaren’s and it’s not meant to be groomed this way. Still Snufkin found himself missing the old shenanigans, so all the fight he put up was fake. He was enjoying himself a lot and trusted Joxter to stop when he had enough.
All that ruckus, however, must have caused Moomintroll to wake up. The door to the guest room swung open with a concerned troll at the doorstep.
This was how Moomin met his friend’s father for the first time – crouched above his son, tail swishing through the air, tongue stuck out, seemingly attacking the poor injured boy. Needles to say, the situation would require a lot of explanation.
Snufkin laughed.