Chapter Text
As the autumn leaves fell and the wind blew fierce, a vagabond placed foot in front of the other on the forest path.
Leaves crinkled under Snufkin’s feet as he walked on in silence. He could hum a little tune, but the feeling he’d need to do it wasn’t there, and he didn’t suppose it would be for a while. It’s quite hard to sing when you’re feeling blue.
He’d just left Moominvalley a few days ago, and, as always, he’d written a letter without saying goodbye to Moomintroll. Oh, dear, sweet Moomintroll; a beast-thing, the Moomin was, with fur covering each inch of his chunky body, and claws that could come out and tear anything to shreds if he so desired to. Of course, he never would- he was much too kind and timid for that.
Snufkin often found his thoughts wandering to Moomin on his travels, which both annoyed him (for he should have this time to think of himself, in these cold winter months) and made him anxious (for why could he not stop thinking of him?), alongside a spark of happiness he pushed deep down inside. The winter months were hard, and gathering supplies was always a necessity, so he’d always find an easy way to distract himself from his friend.
Luckily, he’d taken some time to map out this area; he’d travelled this way before, and though he wasn’t perfectly accustomed to it, it was a place he’d frequent on his trek. The hemulens in the town had taken to placing signs down warning of a criminal who’d come and steal your belongings in the cold, but Snufkin couldn’t care less. If there’s one thing mumriks don’t quite care about, it’s signs, and the rules plastered on them.
The stars were out, but other than that, it was quite dark. Hemulens didn’t have night-eyes like he did, so his robberies were fairly quick and simple (claws, when used correctly, can come in handy for lock-picking). He stole warm winter blankets from the home of a policeman, and a winter getup from a lawyer, and felt that was enough. He’d discard them somewhere to someone who needed them once spring followed through, so they didn’t have to be perfect- just good enough to make sure he didn’t freeze to death at night.
I wonder if Moomintroll is like a warm blanket, he found himself wondering. Perhaps he would be an alternative, if one cuddled up with him. His fur already heats me enough with his hugs.
He scolded himself for thinking of the troll once again, and scurried out of the village as the sun began to rise in the sky.
He’d continue jumping from town to town, path to path, meeting new people along his way (but never staying too long, of course, as the winter was his time to be alone, and he truly did need it, he assured himself) and seeing new things. He’d make sure to commit some of the more interesting sights to memory, to enchant Moomintroll with stories from his wanderings. He’d like the story of Snufkin managing to trick a shopkeep into giving up a rather fine herb for the price of nothing, for certain- or perhaps when he’d needed to find shelter in a rather heavy snowfall, and camped under the ridge of a mountain rumoured to be a giant encased in rubble.
That had been the last time for a while Snufkin had seen snowfall, as it was high time for him to be getting along to a warmer climate. He’d be glad to start shedding his foolish winter coat, at least; his limbs had started sprouting thick, itchy fur, and his neck had practically grown its own scarf! It was stupid, too, because of his Mymble genes (as he’d found out this summer from Moominpappa, what a shocker!), he didn’t get the fur everywhere, so it was essentially useless in keeping him warm. All it did was make him look like an idiot, which is why he tried to shave off any scraps of it when he returned to Moominvalley. The shedding got rid of most of it, but he certainly didn’t want Little My (his half-sister, how horrid) to get any more ammunition to mock him with.
On this specific November morning, sleepily sitting on the edge of a half-thawed river with a fishing pole sat beside him and his cards in his hand, Snufkin was shocked to a start. He’d always trust his cards, as they most usually seemed to provide him with the best option, but what they told him today was peculiar indeed.
“How queer,” he said aloud to himself, and no one else. “That makes no right sense!”
Go to Moominvalley, the cards had said. He needed to go to Moominvalley, in the dead of winter, where the only creatures he cared about would be practically comatose for at least a few more months.
He placed the cards back into his run-down bag with a huff, clearly a bit ruffled. Moominvalley, in winter? No one would be waiting for him, and yet he still felt his usual feelings about the place.
Snufkin truly had too many feelings about his visits to Moominvalley. Moomintroll was so kind, and he’d always say the same thing: “Oh, no, Snufkin! I know you need your space to relax! Even if we don’t talk at all, that’s okay, I just like to spend time with you, you know!”
Despite this, whenever they sat in silence, Snufkin felt some sort of need inside him to entertain Moomintroll. A sickly feeling that started in his gut and clogged up his throat like thick mud. An anxious and guilty feeling, like he was a rabbit caught in a trap. I’m always letting him down, aren’t I, he’d think, and rightly so, because he was.
He surely couldn’t go to Moominvalley in the winter, when he was relatively peaceful, and didn’t feel quite as bad about doing things that his nature told him to do.
But as he lay down that night, he knew in his heart the cards were right. Something was calling him to Moominvalley. There was something he needed to do, despite how his stomach churned.
He just didn’t know what.
- - -
Moomin hated the winter.
Perhaps I’d be a normal Moomin if I hadn’t wandered out as a cub, he wondered, blinking sleep from his eyes for the eighth time since hibernation. And perhaps he was right- maybe if he’d not gotten lost all those years ago, he could’ve grown up hibernating with the family, and not living a childhood knowing quite literally nothing about what a typical Moomin did.
That was why he was so ashamed, of course. He’d been waking up for years now, in the winter, and at first he’d thought it was beautiful. A layer of white glass covered everything he held dear, untouched and smooth for miles and miles. He’d been afraid to go out of his room at first, from the time Snufkin had confided in him an embarrassing secret of stepping outside to go to the bathroom and falling wasit-deep in cold snow in just his underwear. Of course, Little My had been listening in from the rafters, and she had a field day with that one.
Moomin had thought he’d fall right through the snow to the ground, and the snow would close in on him, trapping him and filling his lungs with cold until he couldn’t breathe right anymore. He’d try to call out, but more snow would get in, and he’d just gargle until he suffocated, and no one would find him until springtime, when he’d be long gone.
It’s safe to say that particular nightmare kept him from going out for a few days, at least.
But eventually, he’d had the brilliant idea of throwing a rock Snufkin had given him from a journey two years prior to that one onto the snow (after all, if it sank, he could just retrieve it in the spring before Snufkin showed up, and his friend would be none the wiser), to see if it would hold weight.
There was a bit of fresh snow then, but it only sank a bit- the rest had been frozen solid from all the layers of chill it was tucked under. When he stepped out into the snow, his pawprints left dents in the powder, and his tail trailed behind leaving a mark, and he remembered being upset that he’d ruined the smoothness of the landscape.
He could frankly give less of a shit about the landscape right now.
He’d thought, back then, that surely it would’ve been a one-off experience, and that it would most likely be the last winter he’d experience in his life. But that hadn’t been the case, of course, because he didn’t seem to get lucky at all. He’d wake up each year (the earliest he’d woken up was only three weeks into hibernation), and he’d stay awake for the rest of it, in a cold and empty house.
Sometimes he’d remember to keep more food in the box under his bed, and sometimes he’d cave in and begrudgingly eat pine needles. Sometimes he’d go out foraging for food himself, as well as supplies such as firewood, as the ancestor had moved out of theirs a while ago after he’d found a much more suitable place. Sometimes he’d place funny little notes in treetops, always forgetting the snow would wet them, just to see if next winter they’d still be there when the snow piled up high enough to reach them. But one consistent thing in winter was that he was always terribly, terribly lonely.
Too-Ticky was usually in their bathhouse, but he didn’t have much time where the snow would be light enough to make such a trek over to her. It was also very embarrassing for him. As stated before, he was ashamed.
After all, what good Moomin would wake up each winter? Perhaps he was broken. He couldn’t tell anyone, especially not Mamma and Pappa- oh, how upset they’d be, to see the mess of the son they’d raised! Perhaps they’d cast him out, for being such a freak.
No son of ours would ever wake up so much, he was sure they’d say. We must have picked up the wrong Moomin off the side of our boat. This can’t possibly be our son, he’s bent and broken and doesn’t act at all like he should!
He knew that wouldn’t be the case, of course, but some dark pit in him told him that it definitely could happen, and so he kept it a secret. No one knew at all, and no one ever would.
As he looked out his window at an icy world, he couldn’t help himself from wishing that he’d have someone to share this time with. And although he wouldn’t admit it to himself yet, he was wishing for a very specific someone to be here with him, to keep him company through the cold nights.
That would be cruel of you, Moomintroll,
he hushed his desires.
Snufkin needs his alone time, of course. He should not be here in winter.