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When Snufkin was a kid, he didn't get sick often. One tended to build a good immune system when one was always wandering in forests. But, when he did, Joxter would let him curl up on his chest, where he could more clearly hear and feel the vibrations of his father's purring.
That was how mumriks comforted each other. Purring could be both an expression of joy or a way to make a loved one feel better. Snufkin didn't know if it was just being able to hear his father's care for him, or something else, but he could always breathe much easier with his ear pressed against the Joxter's chest.
He'd do it back too, in the rarer times Joxter was the one to get sick. Snufkin couldn't let his father sleep on top of him if he didn't want to be crushed under the weight, but what he could do was curl up on his chest anyway and be the one to purr loudly. Joxter claimed it helped, and he wasn't one for lying, at least not to someone who wasn't a cop or park keeper, so Snufkin believed him.
He thought it was fitting, that their main expression of joy could also be a way of caring for someone. How worth of happiness was it, after all, to be able to take care of someone you love?
For most of his life, it was just Snufkin and the Joxter. They would visit his mother the Mymble, but that was rare, and she had many, many other kids to take care of. Joxter only had the one. And Snufkin didn't like it when his mother's kids kept clinging to his father. Joxter was only his dad and no one else's.
Then Snufkin grew up and said he was old enough to travel alone. The Joxter didn't stop him. They were mumriks- wandering by oneself was important. But he had nuzzled his cheek against the top of Snufkin's head and told him to write so that he could visit.
"You don't have an address", Snufkin had said. "How are the letters going to get to you?"
"They just are. Don't worry about it."
The Joxter had smiled, and Snufkin had sighed and promised.
He must have had some way, for not only Snufkin's letters arrived but also sometimes Joxter's replies were found by him in the cities he passed by. One who trusted their parent less would have thought they were being followed, but Snufkin knew Joxter knew many people from his youth. It wasn't too hard for him to ask a few favors in order to be able to communicate with his only son.
Also, Snufkin knew the sound of his father's footsteps and breathing like he knew his own. He had heard him when he didn't care about anyone hearing and when he was being sneaky. If his dad were following him, he'd know.
They met up again in small countryside towns and docks and river cities. Snufkin enjoyed wandering alone even more than he ever thought he would, but it was hard not to miss someone you had spent most of your life with.
The Joxter had told him, next to campfires and in dark caves and in slow, lazy days under the open sky, about the friends he had made in his youth. When he met Moomin and his friend under the threat of a comet, Snufkin knew who he was. Moominpappa had written the Joxter when he was born. He himself had been a baby when that had happened, but mumriks had long memory.
He hadn't meant to become Moomin's friend, and then more than that. (Not- more, exactly. Different. A good different). To be kind to him, yes, because he was important to someone who was important to his father, and because it was just generally good to be kind to people, unless they were cops or park keepers. But Moomin- Moomin was Moomin, and that was it.
Snufkin found himself staying for the first time of his life.
"It doesn't surprise me", had written Joxter in his latest letter. Whatever that had meant. He wondered if he should be bothered. Snufkin was, a little- he missed wandering with most of his being and soul, missed hearing his own footsteps on places where he hadn't been to before, seeing new skies and new sights instead of the same valley everyday for most of the year. Something inside of him sang and soared when it was winter and time to go.
But he played, always, a new tune in the spring, like a prayer for a good year, like an apology, like a celebration or a gift.
It had been scary when Snufkin played his new tune for an entire hour before Moominmamma had come down to tell him Moomin had woken up sick and couldn't get out of bed. She had expected him to go, maybe, tell her to say hello to her son for him, that Snufkin would be near the river when he were healthy enough to get out again. Instead, he had asked:
"Can I see him?", and Moominmamma had smiled and said yes.
Moomin did look sick. There were bags under his eyes, his white fur far from its softness and shine, but he smiled when Snufkin came in, delighted.
"Snuf-", he coughed, "Snufkin!"
"Hello, Moomin. How are you feeling?"
Snufkin sat by his side on the bed, ignoring the chair Moominmamma had left for him. He was pretty sure mumriks couldn't get moomin illness. Moomin's forehead was hot against his black paw, and only gotten hotter.
"I- oh, it's just a cold. Moominmamma says she has a good cure for cold, from grandma's recipes, so I should soon be good as new." He looked up at Snufkin with bright eyes. "How was winter?"
"It was nice as always. The Joxter came to visit me once, in a town under the ground." Snufkin hummed. "Can't say I'm not glad to be back, though."
"Oh, Snufkin, I'm- I'm glad you're here."
Moomin seemed to have some difficulty breathing, probably because of the cold. Judging by the way he kept squirming under the blanket, he was also uncomfortable, which wasn't too unusual when ill. Well, no matter. Mumriks had a way to deal with that. He wasn't too sure if it would work here, but Moomin seemed to find his purring calming, so at least it couldn't make it worse.
"What are you doing, Snufkin?", Moomin asked, blushing a little confused, as the mumrik lied down by his side and then half on top of his chest. He was light enough not to be a burden on overworked lungs.
Snufkin started purring at full capacity.
Moomin's confusion disappeared.
It didn't get rid of everything. He still had a fever he needed to sweat out, and was still tired and sore from the cold, but the coughing finally stopped and it was- oh, so much easier to breathe like this! It was less uncomfortable, too, but Moomin suspected that was more because of the weight and warmth of another being than because of the purring.
Moomin relaxed and weakly bumped his head against Snufkin's forehead in a mumrik gesture he had learned from him. "Thank you", he whispered.
Snufkin smiled, calmly stroking his white fur. It was comforting and Moomin couldn't quite keep his eyelids open. "Of course, my dove", he purred back, "now go to sleep. I promise I'll be here when you wake up."
And he was.