Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Snufkin stood still in a clearing of the woods, lit up by a patch of sunlight that streamed down from in between the trees, face turned upward, eyes closed. His hat was in his hands, so that the sun might gently caress the skin of his face with her luminous, warm hands. The wind whistled through his auburn hair, and hummed a harmony to him, stirring circles around his heels and across his overcoat. The leaves rustled out a crackling, percussive beat, and a little brook somewhere in the distance sang the melody. 

Snufkin listened. 

His eyes remained closed, and his head tilted ever so slightly when he found an opening in the song— a spot for him to add something new, something personal and meaningful, worth sharing with the forest.

 He hummed softly, testing the pitch, raising his eyebrows when he heard something match. He shifted into a minor key. 

Ah. There it was.

He opened his eyes slowly, pulling out his harmonica, and played a driving, upward tune, starting in majors, shifting into minor, and back again. He played a song of the restlessness he’d felt for so long now, as though something brand new were about to start, and everyone ought to come see if it would be a good new thing, a something-better-than-before, of sorts— or perhaps not. He kept his eyes on the branches, waiting.

Lo and behold, in a flurry of motion, a single bluebird landed gently on a tree branch a bit of a ways above him. It was wary, careful to keep its distance— nervous creatures, forest-type birds are, he thought — but Snufkin directed the tune up at the little bird, and soon it twittered in time with the melody, trying to catch the pitch. Another bluebird landed next to the first— a friend, perhaps? And he, too, joined the small chorus. Then three more came in, and others, more and more landing on the branches of the trees surrounding the clearing until Snufkin was surrounded by birds, all tweeting along to his new tune. He gave a melodious call with his instrument, and they avidly repeated it back to him, until he was sure they had it down. Some began to flutter up off the branches and into flight, not away, but in a sort of dance, getting close to Snufkin and then pulling away in joyous movement— never too close, only moving in waves of sound and light, surrounding Snufkin as he moved in time with his own sound. Certain now that the birds had gotten the tune, Snuf pulled the harmonica away from his lips, pausing to marvel at the cacophony of sound he had created. 

He pulled out one of his copper cups and picked up a stick from the forest floor, still careful to move in time with the beat the woods had given him. He turned to the tree, where the first couple of bluebirds still sat, reluctant to throw their cautious nature aside and join in the flight filled fun. Snufkin smiled, already a harmony forming in his mind for them. He chimed the stick on the copper cup, in time with the rising and falling pulsating of the melody around him. The song lifted him up, leaves spinning and swirling around him as he rose to the level of the birds up on the trees, and he was moving around them, now. He clanged out the line of sound again— where it had been cantankerous at first, he’d now already adapted to make it light and gentle in tone, in tune with the world around him. The resistent bluebirds listened attentively, and dropped their pride, one by one joining in, singing the top line in charming, chiming, light and short harmony. Snufkin grinned.

Dropping the cup and stick on the forest floor and pulling out his harmonica once again, he turned back to the rest of the forest, to the birds still flying in a swirl of motion around him, the wind of their wings lifting up fallen leaves and newly sprouting greens and swirling the sound into a whirlpool of color and music, Snufkin at the center of it all. He was flying, the power filling his lungs and thumping on his heart.

He let go of all restraint, playing from the very beating on his heart, feeding on the energy of the moment and sending it flying out for his airborne chorus line to catch. He lifted the melody, soared through the harmony, raising the stakes and heightening the stress, peaking at the very edge of a minor key—

And fell into a pleasant resolve, gently tying off the end. Snufkin seemed to land back on the ground, feeling his weight come back to him. The birds spun away in a feathery flurry, still singing their parts to themselves as they flew away. Snufkin watched them go, knowing they’d teach the melody to their bird friends, until eventually the whole valley would be singing it. Maybe the whole world, even. He imagined all the places he’d seen on his travels, all the places he never planned on returning to, hearing this song, and being touched by a piece of him. In a way, it’d be like he’d never left.

His mood dimmed rather quickly after that.

Well, thoughts of the whole world could wait, he supposed. The sun was going to set soon enough, and despite being the first day of springtime, Snufkin still had miles to go before reaching Moominvalley.

Miles, and miles to go before he could see Moomin.

He inhaled suddenly at a sharp pain in the side of his ribs.

Youch. That probably wasn’t good.

Well, he’d worry about it later.

He wasn’t entirely sure of why it had taken him so long to come back. He was still in the thick of the woods, despite that he had turned to come back at the usual time he would every year. But then again, he hadn’t been as careful as he should’ve, and had nearly gotten all mixed up more than once. Focusing on direction and travel was usually something that came to him naturally. Now, his mind seemed scattered in as many directions as the birds had flown off in, and the path he walked had turned to puzzle pieces, jagged and jumbled and nearly impossible to piece together

He wasn’t lost, per say, he couldn’t be. He knew these woods like the back of his hand. He just wasn’t quite sure of where he was going until he’d arrived, which wasn’t all that helpful when there was a specific location to which he was supposed to be going.

Snufkin sighed. After finally delivering his new spring tune, it was unlikely he’d have the energy left to continue on even one mile further. The effort of even thinking about it already seemed to sap his energy, and so he decided to camp here once again, just for one more night. He dropped his instruments back in his bag, and took a swig of water from his flask, before deciding to get ready for the night.

He wondered if it would be worth it to make a fire and cook some dinner. He had some fish left to cook that he’d caught in a river a couple days back, and some rice he’d bought a month ago that was nearly gone, but didn’t feel all that hungry, so he decided against it. Making a little fire still seemed to be a good idea, though. It was only the first day of spring, and the ground was still hard and cold, and would sap the tent of warmth throughout the night.

He gathered kindling, and climbed up on a tree, shaking branches until they broke loose and fell, until he had adequate wood to last through the night. Snufkin gathered it all up into a little pile, surrounding it with pebbles and stones and clearing away any dry leaves in the surrounding area. He pulled out a match, lighting first his pipe, and then the kindling. He breathed in deeply, and blew the smoke out, watching it mix with the fire’s as the kindling led the hot flame to the wood. The black smoke billowed up, spreading out through the air, until it had dissipated enough to no longer be visible.

Snufkin wondered at that. After the smoke went high up enough and far enough away, it was basically gone. No one would notice it, or think anything of it ever again. It wasn’t visible, and therefore it just… wasn’t. It wasn’t anything at all, not anymore.

He let out a harsh laugh. Smoke, of course, doesn’t return in the springtime to be remembered again.

Snufkin was reminded, once more, of why he had continued like this for so long. All for Moomin. He had to remember that he stayed for Moomin. Because Moomin might be sad, should he not return, and the mere thought of being responsible for a frown on Moomins face made Snufkin inexplicably distressed, and he’d feel a great urge to hit something. Himself, probably.

The fire was blazing, now. Snufkin thought he should collect a bit more wood, so that it wouldn’t burn out too quickly. He moved methodically over to another tree, his mind elsewhere, claws extending to hook onto the bark of a tree and pull him upward, towards a sky packed with stars but shrouded by mist, and clouds, and trees. He crawled out onto a branch, methodically shifting his weight to jounce the limb, so that the branch cracked more and more, and with a final push, he lept off of the branch as he heard it break off and fall to the forest floor below. He then climbed to another branch to do the same, and another.

Distracted, he happened to loosen a branch a bit too much before he could get all his weight off of it, and went crashing down along with the thick bough.

Ouch.

The bruises that already ached all across his body made themselves known, as well as some new spots that he knew would soon be black and blue. Snufkin thought he ought to smack himself for being so stupid. He stared up at the sky, wondering why he ought to be there at all. 

Sunlight was rapidly depleting. He breathed out, closing his eyes and considering just lying there in the woods, letting the plants and the roots of the trees grow over him until he was only flowers and grass all covered in ice and snow.

Ah, if only.

Instead, he sat up, and shifted painfully to his feet, before dragging over the heavy bough and snapping it into pieces by stepping on one end and pulling on the other with both his paws. He laid one of the thicker pieces in the flames, watching them curl and grow around it, snapping and crackling at the bark of the wood.

He pulled out his copper cup, and tied a string around the rim, attaching the other end to a long, slim stick. Snufkin spared some water from one of his flasks to fill the cup, before tossing some chamomile leaves out of his pocket and into the cup. He lifted the stick high above the fire, and thought for a moment that it must look as though he were fishing in a little puddle of lava. He smiled in a dark sort of way. He supposed even in hell, a fisherman can’t change his nature.

Dinner didn’t seem worth it, but a bit of tea to calm his spirit and keep his mind from wandering too far was always welcome. He sat with his odd sort-of “fishing pole,” waiting for the water to boil, puffing on his pipe, feeling as though he might be the very picture of melancholy.

He breathed deeply. As deep as he could, with the trapping construction of this body, forest, and earth, he feared, wasn’t all that deep at all. It was unfortunately rather shallow, no matter for how long and how desperately he’d been striving to escape.

He felt as though he hadn’t had a real breath of air in years, and as hard as he might try, he couldn’t get one now, either. But then again, if he’d been able to go without breathing for so long, who’s to say he needs to now?

The water steamed and bubbled, the sound of it mixing with the crackling of the fire. Snufkin carefully lowered it to the ground, before untying the knot around the stick and putting it to the side. He watched the water continue to steam, waiting for it to cool to a temperature he could stand, staring at the darkening of the water as the flavor swirled out of the tea leaves and spread out accordingly. His mind was nowhere, his mood entirely blank.

It had been that way for a long while now, since before he could remember, but it seemed as though he was only now noticing. Had there been a certain moment where everything had dimmed? Could there be a part of his life that he could mark as the point where signs of happiness seemed to have fled, where he had stopped loving things, or enjoying anything at all? Where it had become an accomplishment to even do something?

He became irritable at the thought, deciding to stop this line of thinking. It was useless trying to pinpoint and label things which he knew sat within an odd grey area of his memory, where things were neither identifiable nor ignorable.

He supposed that this was the part of his mind where the source of his afflicting restlessness must lie. It was this restlessness that never let him settle, never let him be happy, never allowed him to predict the future or know what would come next. Snufkin didn’t have any particular want or need for this, but sometimes he’d wonder about it. After all, Moomin seemed very happy with that sort of life. All the people in Moominvalley did. Why was he so cursed with this oddity, that separated and pulled him away from a life worth living? 

Snufkin wasn’t sure if he could ever be happy with any sort of life.

He gently slapped his wrist, admonishing himself for that entirely ungrateful line of thinking. No more thoughts like those. He needed sleep, if he planned on making any progress tomorrow. He carefully felt the metal of the cup with the back of his paw, before sliding the pads of both paws around it and pulling it up and toward him when he was satisfied the temperature was not too hot to hold. He carefully sipped on the tea, letting the warm drink calm his mind, settle his energy, and soothe the aching of his body, striped with scars and stained black and blue. Often by accident, and often not, this marking was the signature of his travels, and though he often hid them, there was a sense of pride mingled with the shame that made him cover them up. He felt the pride, and traced the lines on his wrists over his jacket, seeing their ghostly tracks in his minds eye. He pressed gently on a bruise on his arm, and again on one on his hip. He felt less trapped, acknowledging these imperfections, and felt more… in control. Undeserving of the relief as he was, he allowed himself this moment of indulgence. He could deny himself some other pleasure later.

Finishing the last few sips of the drink, Snufkin sighed outward. He breathed in again, but felt as though he couldn’t get in quite as much air as he had let out. He coughed for a spell, until his breathing, while shallow, was restored. A metallic taste spread throughout his mouth, and when he wiped his lips, red was streaked across the back of his hand.

Huh. That was new.

Another thing to deal with later, he supposed.

Snufkin poked at the fire, separating the logs and watching the flames shrink smaller and smaller, until it was only glowing coals emanating their warmth and tossing their dimming light onto the canvas of his tent.

Bedtime.

Inside of his tent, he pinned the flap shut, placing his hat next to him and removing his overcoat, folding it up into a sort of makeshift pillow. He pulled the thin, only slightly tattered cotton blanket— a gift from the Moomins, years prior— up to his chin.

Crickets sounded in the distance, and the creatures of the night began their calls. Leaves rustled, animals padded through the night, trees swayed and the wind whistled a tune through it all, and Snufkin found himself relaxing into a deep slumber, comforted in a forest filled with restlessness to match his own.

~~۞~~

It was a week after the first day of spring when Snufkin finally reached Moominvalley. Moomin had been pacing over the bridge, back and forth, every day since he first woke up, a week and a half prior. He’d sat on the edge, imagining what he’d say with Snufkin beside him, fishing quietly. He’d stared out his window at the spot where Snufkin typically set up his camp. He’d talked the ears off of the whole family wondering just what tales Snufkin might have to tell of this year’s journey, and just how far away from the valley Snufkin might’ve gone.

But this night was odd, for Moomin had felt a peculiar restlessness, a sort of jittery nervousness for something. And so, instead of sleeping, he’d sat upon his windowsill, staring at the fireflies floating evenly down to the river, listening to the crickets sound out a low, even beat. There was a tune of sorts there, but it was too scrambled among all the different sounds of the night, and Moomin couldn’t quite place it. He’d always thought it incredible of Snufkin to be able to place notes and harmonies and melody amongst what was, to Moomin, and incomprehensible cacophony. That wasn’t to say Moomin didn’t enjoy the white noise of nature, it’s just that that was all it was to him-- noise. At least, that’s all it was until Snufkin came.

Snufkin brought music with him wherever he went. Each step was a beat of a drum, his breath a whistling harmony, each rustling movement perfectly in tune, and his voice! His voice was the melody line all on it’s own, perfect and even, low but soaring with meaning. Every word was a full, round sound, filled to the brim with warmth, rolling and swirling over the wind to complement the sounds it was surrounded by. Every word he spoke was so important and special, every sentence filled with meaning. An effortless song, that meant everything to Moomin. 

Moomin wished he could hear it all the time, that Snufkin might speak more than he does, for he could never seem to get enough of his voice. And yet, he understood that he mustn't voice such demands, for he feared that, should he get to hear from Snufkin all the time, it could become less special. Moomin couldn’t think of anything worse than a world where Snufkin wasn’t so, so special.

And so, as Moomin had woken up the morning, head in his arms on the windowsill, memory of that late, restless night slowly came to him as he slowly opened his eyes. He came to recognize, staring in the bathroom mirror, that a peculiar feeling had settled in his heart. He wondered if a dream had struck a feeling that he couldn’t quite shake, but couldn’t dredge up memory of what he’d dreamed of. A sense of something new had descended upon the valley, and Moomin understood it in a way that made little logical sense. It was a feeling that he was certain of something, but uncertain of what it could possibly be.

The rest of his senses awakened. He breathed in, and out, smelling Mama’s cooking-- pancakes for breakfast this morning-- and hearing the muffled sound of his family bustling throughout the kitchen, Little My’s shrill laughter at a comment from Papa, and the birds singing from outside. The birds sang high, and low, in three part harmony, and accompanying them was a slowly growing, distant instrument… 

The tune. The new spring tune.

Moomin bolted to his feet and ran to the window, eyes searching wildly through the trees, searching for the big green hat bobbing along the trail. And there he was, oh joy! Moomin leaned forward, a grin splitting across his face, before pushing off of the windowsill and rushing down the stairs and out the door, with barely enough time to greet his family. He tumbled down the hill as Snufkin walked calmly and evenly towards him, eyes closed, focused instead on the melody he played. 

Birds flew around the little green-clad creature, letting him direct them, lead them in a strange sort of flying orchestra. They swirled around him, and the very bubbling of the brook seemed to rise and fall when Snufkin grew the melody and shrank it. Snufkin's eyes slowly opened, and caught Moomin’s. Moomin saw a sort of mischievous glint in them, before Snufkin looked away, instead giving all his focus to his playing. It got louder, growing bigger, bigger still, and wilder. The song was a flurry of motion, and it was all Moomin could do to keep up with it, running ever faster and faster toward to bridge. Snufkin took his first, slow, even step onto the bridge, rising the tempo still, and Moomin couldn’t help but be a little irked, because all of a sudden this felt way too much like a competition, and he leaned forward as he ran, nearly tumbling of balance, and then he was storming up the bridge to where Snufkin had stepped higher and higher, and then--

The song resolved.

Snufkin finished the note, smiling softly down at his instrument, breathing heavily after the effort of playing. He looked up into the eyes of Moomin, breathing equally heavily after his sprint down onto the bridge. Snufkin was a little surprised that he’d made it.

“Hello, Moomintroll.”

At that, the two burst into laughter. And although they’d spent so many months apart, it was like they’d never left each others’ side.

Moomin took Snufkin into his arms in a warm embrace. Snufkin was surprised, at first, but soon hesitantly wrapped his arms around Moomin to return the hug. Perhaps it had been a very long time since he’d last seen Moomin, for it had certainly been a long, long while since someone had held him so.

Moomin was surprised as well, but for different reasons. Snufkin felt quite gaunt underneath all of his layers, and Moomin thought that he remembered Snufkin being a bit plumper the last he’d seen him. Snuf had always been thin, but Moomin thought this might just be a little bit too thin.

Oh, well, Mama’s cooking would fatten him up yet.

Moomin closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Snufkin smelled of chamomile and wildberry, and the smell of his pipe lingered on his clothes, and Moomin thought Snufkin ought to smoke a little bit less and drink chamomile tea a tad bit more, so that his scent might better match his calming spirit.

The two pulled away from the hug, and smiled. Snufkin dropped his bag down and pulled out his fishing pole, sitting down on the edge of the bridge. He patted the spot next to him without looking up, and Moomin eagerly dropped into the spot beside him.

“How was your winter?” Snufkin asked, articulating the t.

“Oh, long ,” Moomin groaned, rolling his head in exaggeration. He thought he heard Snufkin breath out of his nose in an almost-chuckle. “How was yours?”

Snufkin’s gaze remained firmly on his fishing pole, so that his hat hid most of his face. “Much the same.” 

Snufkin’s answer was said in a way tinged with some feeling Moomin couldn’t quite recognize. He decided to think nothing of it.

“Oh,” Snufkin straightened up rather suddenly. “Before I forget…” He handed his fishing pole to Moomin, before reaching behind himself and into his bag. He dug through it for a moment or two, before pulling out a big pair of mittens. They were jaggedly striped with green, white, and thin strips of very pale blue, with a little pattern of dots and small silhouetted cats. Snufkin traded the mittens for the return of his fishing pole, placing them carefully in the Moomins lap, before gently taking back his pole.

“Oh!” Moomin cried, unsure of what to say. He picked up the gloves. They were ever so soft, and Moomin could already feel warmth from within them.

“I figured,” Snufkin began, face once again hidden by the brim of his hat, “it’s still quite chilly out, in the early spring. And so I thought that, perhaps, you ought to have something to keep your paws warm.” Snufkin turned his gaze up to meet Moomin’s. “Do you like them?”

Moomin stared at him. Was that even a question? “Yes of course!” It was nearly a shout. “I absolutely love them, I…” He slowed down, looking down at the mittens in his paw. “Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

Snufkin his face once again, ducking his head back to his fishing pole. “I got them in the little town of Serendipity. It’s just north of here,” Snufkin gestured vaguely. “Behind the mountains.”

Moomin grinned. He was still so happy for his present. “How is it, there?”

Snufkin smiled, turning back to face him once again. “Oh, it’s so lovely. You’d love the people there.”

And so the two continued on like this for hours after, sharing stories and tales, until the sun began to set, and Moomin had to come inside for dinner, and Snufkin really ought to set up his camp until it became too dark to start a fire. And as Moomin lay down to sleep that night, he dreamt of little birds singing, and the emerald silhouette of a little man in a big hat, and the uneasy feeling of a brand new change to his life, something he really ought to be paying attention to. It pulsated around the little silhouette, and it seemed as though the silhouette was getting further and further away from him as the feeling got stronger and stronger, and Moomin couldn’t quite set his finger one what the feeling or the sense of a new change meant, or whether this change would be for the better, or perhaps for the worse.

~~۞~~

When Moomin awoke the next day, he felt a desperate need to learn what it was that he had dreamt of. But he felt the dream slip away from him all too quickly, so that he could no longer remember what it was about, or what the feeling had been.

He decided that if he had forgotten, then it must not have been all that important. And so he put his thoughts to rest about it, and walked downstairs for breakfast, the smell of Moominmama’s cooking already floating up the stairs.

Chapter Text

A week later, Moomin eagerly ran out to meet Snufkin, the sun warm and bright above him. Snufkin waited patiently on the bridge, fishing pole in hand, his gaze resting on part of the pole. He fiddled with the knot between the hook and the line. As Moomin thumped onto the bridge, he looked up, before smiling softly and turning to take a seat on the edge of the bridge. Moomin plopped down beside him. He flicked the line into the waters below.

“Wake up late today, Moomin?”

Moomin chuckled breathlessly in response. “I suppose so, yes. Tell me, Snufkin, when do you sleep? You always turn in later than me, but rise with the dawn, I’m not sure how you do it.”

Snufkin only grinned, raising his eyebrows surreptitiously in response. Moomin shook his head, before changing the subject.

“Not in the mood for fish today, huh?” Moomin asked.

Snufkin seemed a bit startled. “What?” He asked, confusion filling his voice.

“You didn’t bait your line.” Moomin sat up straight. “I figured you weren’t planning on really catching anything today, is all.”

“Oh,” Snufkin said, his tone a bit incomprehensible. “Oh,” he repeated, this lowering his head into his right hand, propped up on his knee.

“You forgot?” Moomin asked, surprised.

“Yes, I--” Snuf’s voice was strained, and he paused to breathe out, sitting back up, before letting out a breathless laugh. “I suppose I did.” His voice was lighter now.

Moomin elbowed Snufkin lightly. “How very un-Snufkin of you,” he teased. Typically Snufkin was so methodical about everything, Moomin didn’t think he knew how to forget. “Would you like to eat with us tonight instead? Mamma is making hazelnut soup, and Little My was going to make her red velvet cookies. She promised that that chances of her burning down the kitchen have gone down to only fifty percent, which is seventy percent less than last time!” Moomin paused to look at Snufkin and see his reaction.

Well. Snufkin seemed very tense, sitting straight and unmoving. While his face was stony, and with a furrow brow his eyes were focused on his fishing pole. While the change was subtle, as all things about Snufkin were, Moomin could tell that even the thought of being so social had Snufkin feeling trapped.

Moomin wanted to slap himself. Well, of course it made him feel trapped! Snufkin was hardly a week back in the valley, Moomin couldn’t expect him to be ready to meet and chat with everybody immediately, with no time to rest and settle. Moomin felt awful, he really ought to think more before speaking like he did. He wracked his brain for a solution, shifting his weight back and forth.

“Or…” he stalled. Snufkin didn’t move from his guarded position. Moomin looked around, searching for an idea among the rolling green hills. Ah! There was an idea!   “What if, instead, we had a picnic, just you and me?”

Snufkin seemed to relax at that. While still a bit tentative, he smiled in response. “I think I’d like that,” His tone was even and warm, and he paused. “Just you and me.” Snufkin’s smile was audible.

Moomin flushed. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he turned rigidly to face forward, willing the blood to leave his cheeks so that his face might cool off. Why did that phrase, when Snufkin said it, have such an effect on him? He sucked in some air, avoiding thinking about it, decidedly focusing on the water flowing beneath the two of them as they sat on the bridge. He was so concentrated on focusing, that he barely noticed Snufkin remove his hat, reel in his empty line, and set his fishing pole aside, until the little green man leaned his head against Moomin’s shoulder, nearly giving Moomin a heart attack.

Moomin laughed gently, shaking his head at himself in a slight movement, careful not to disturb Snufkin too much. He shifted so that his arm wrapped around to support Snufkin, and he watched the smaller boy’s eyes slowly shut, as Snufkin let out a contented sigh, relaxing into Moomin’s side.

“Thank you.” Snufkin said the words in a whisper, so it was barely audible, but just loud enough for Moomin to hear. Moomin wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for, but he smiled and leaned his head on Snufkin’s in response. And so the pair sat like that for quite some time, until midday had become an imminent dusk, and, as it was very nearly dinnertime, Moomin and Snufkin stood and separated to do their part in dinner preparation for the picnic, with the promise to return in an hour’s time.

~~۞~~

Snufkin and Moomin sat together on a hill by Snufkin’s camp, watching the sun set and douse the entire valley in gold. Moomin had brought a jug of rose-blackberry lemonade, two ceramic jars filled with hazelnut soup, and six only slightly-crispy red velvet cookies, courtesy of Little My. Little My had wanted to join them, but Moominmamma had distracted her with a new jar of marmalade, so that she had forgotten all about Moomin and Snufkin’s picnic. Mamma had given Moomin a look that implied she knew something better than him, but he didn’t have time to think about what it could mean. Snufkin was waiting for him, after all.

And there they were, sipping lemonade and savoring the taste on their tongues, as Moomin tried to talk between scarfing down spoonfuls of soup. Snufkin nodded along to his chatter, focusing intently, smiling at the funny bits and laughing every now and then. He held out his cup for a refill of the lemonade, and Moomin reached over to oblige. But as he filled Snuf’s cup, he paused for a moment.

“Snufkin, isn’t that around the fifth time I’ve refilled your cup now?”

Snufkin seemed to think for a moment, before shaking his head. “Fourth, actually.”

“But you’ve hardly touched your soup.” Moomin knew Snufkin couldn’t just dislike it-- he’d loved it last year, after all, when Moominmamma had first gotten the recipe, and he had even taken some with him back to his tent, if Moomin recalled correctly.

Snufkin looked down at his jar, still almost completely full. He’d been stirring his spoon through the thick liquid absentmindedly, but hadn’t spooned very much into his mouth at all.

He hesitated, before laughing sheepishly. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed. I suppose I’m just,” he paused, thinking over his wording. “Not yet used to eating in front of someone else.”

“Oh,” Moomin said, nodding understandably. He didn’t entirely get it, but he remembered from a couple years prior, when Snufkin had explained how, after being alone for so long, it was difficult to get used to being around a lot of people, and Moomin figured it must be similar to that. Moomin wasn’t sure why it suddenly applied to him, since Snufkin had never had an issue with things like that around Moomin before— maybe other people, but not Moomin. But he figured it would be rude to pry, and so he didn’t ask.

They finished dinner in comfortable silence, and while Moomin took note of how Snufkin had only eaten half of his soup before shutting the lid, he didn’t call attention to it. He trusted that Snufkin was taking good care of himself. After all, he’d never had to worry about Snufkin before. Snufkin was very self-reliant, with a firm independence— more so than anyone Moomin had ever met. Perhaps these recent little oddities were simply Snufkin… adjusting. That must be it.

Moomin and his friend packed up their things after sunset, scrambling to beat the draining of light from the sky. The two walked back to Snufkin’s camp, arms around each other as they watched the stars, stumbling here and there because their necks were craned upward to look at the sky, instead of where they were going, which lead to them bursting out into laughter, before finally reaching the camp. Snuf lit a slightly tarnished, bronze lantern with little star cutouts in the top, illuminating the surrounding area. He dropped a log on his campfire, nursing it back to life to warm the area, before removing the pins that kept the flap to his tent shut. He held open the flap, and gestured for Moomin to enter the surprisingly spacious tent, which he happily obliged. Snufkin smiled, before crawling in after him, and rolled out his sleeping mat. He pulled out of his bag a pillowcase, and, out of a pocket in the side, a large, pleasantly fragrant jar of dried flowers and herbs, mixed in with a good amount of straw, which he poured into the pillowcase as a form of stuffing. He screwed the top back on the jar, before fastening the makeshift pillow shut, and patting the crispy, sort-of-cushioning so that it was spread evenly throughout the case. He placed it carefully on the end of the mat, where Moomin now sat, and he went back to his bag to rifle through it before pulling out his thin, tattered sheet, which he tossed at Moomin. Moomin huffed indignantly in response, to which Snufkin chuckled. He closed the flap to his bag, before taking off his hat and placing it gently atop the satchel.

Standing and moving toward the entrance of the tent, he said, “I’ll go calm the fire down for the night. I’ll be right back.” And then he left.

Moomin thought it kind of funny that Snufkin called it “calming down the fire,” as though it were an unruly pet. He shifted off of the mat, unfolding the sheet and smoothing it over the slim cushioning, and folded a corner over to make it easier to climb in. He sat back down on top of the mat, and contemplated the shadow the lantern cast of Snufkin’s hat on top of the bag. Oddly enough, the silhouette, similar to Snufkin, dredged up a strange feeling of deja vu, an odd and uncomfortable feeling that made Moomin shift where he sat, like something he might’ve known in a dream… 

Snufkin opened the flap to the tent, yawning as he crawled in, and sat next to Moomin. “What are you thinking of?” He asked absentmindedly.

“Oh, nothing,” Moomin replied, turning to Snufkin with a smile. ”My head is as empty as my stomach is full,” he joked. Snufkin smiled in return, and leaned against him, closing his eyes.

“Now come on, Snufkin, at least take off your coat.”

Snufkin laughed good naturedly, before righting himself, and unbuttoning the oversized overcoat. Moomin found something very interesting in the upper corner of the tent, all of a sudden. Snufkin tossed the coat unceremoniously to the corner of the tent, so it landed beside his hat and bag with a gentle thud. Moomin hesitated as Snufkin stretched his arms in front of him and yawned,  before deciding that yes, he should bring it up.

“Snufkin…” he began. “Um.” Oh, dear, how was he to say it?

Snufkin already seemed to understand what he had in mind, though. “Yeah, I know. Do you mind helping me with it?” Snufkin was awkward asking it, but Moomin was happy to help, and the awkwardness dissipated and Snufkin turned his back to Moomin. Snufkin removed his thin, white, cotton long sleeve shirt, revealing the off-white bandages wrapped around his chest. 

Woah. Those looked tight.

Extremely tight. 

Moomin ran a finger down his back, looking for the end of the bandages, and upon finding it, he untucked it from the nest of wrapping and began slowly and carefully unwinding it around Snufkin’s body. Snufkin hissed a bit, wincing at the feeling, and Moomin’s brow furrowed with concern.

“Snufkin, when were these last taken off?”

“Well, I suppose… a few days ago, perhaps?”

“Snufkin, you promised Mamma to take them off every night!” Moomin scolded. He wasn’t really all that angry, but the red, swelling bruising up and down Snufkin’s ribcaged certainly seemed to be. (Speaking of bruising, Snufkin seemed to be covered in them, which, while equally concerning, Moomin made a mental note to ask about later.) “She told you it’s not healthy to sleep in, and it--”

“Affects my breathing. Yes, Moomin, I’m aware.” It came out as more venomous than Snufkin had intended, and he winced at the angry tone that had slipped out of his mouth. He sighed. “Just… well, I’m taking them off now, aren’t I? And I won’t wear them at all tomorrow, if it will make you happier.”

Moomin only shook his head, carefully removing the last of the bandages. After they were off, Snufkin quickly grabbed for his shirt, tugging it over his head to hide… well, everything. He turned to face Moomin, smiling apologetically. Moomin couldn’t help but smile in return. Here, by the dim, flickering light of the lantern, Snufkin looked so bare and lovely, and Moomin’s heart jumped into his throat. So he opened his arms, letting Snufkin lean into them, resting his head against the great fluffy troll’s chest, and Snuf breathed in deeply the scent of Moomin’s fur.

Snufkin felt as though he could really, truly breathe for the first time in ages, in more ways than one. He wished, foolishly perhaps, that he could always remain here, held safely in Moomin’s gentle embrace, away from noise, away from expectations, from prying eyes and question-shaped daggers. Perhaps Snufkin had never been happy his entire life, but here, Snufkin thought he might be able to learn how to be.

Sometime in the night, one of them snuffed out the lantern, and they tucked themselves under the sheet and relaxed into one another’s arms. Snufkin watched Moomin fall asleep (though Moomin has wished to see Snufkin sleep first), and let his eyes close too, both of them dreaming of warm, bubbling waters and never-ending sunshine, so that they might never be separated again.

Chapter Text

A few days after that comfortable night, Snufkin woke up early in the morning, as he usually did, when rays of sunlight were just barely beginning to reflect off of the clouds that were blotted across the sky, and he might be able to pretend that he was all alone in the entire world. He yawned, shrugging on his coat and stepping out of his tent, stretching out his arms above him, shuddering at the biting cold that accompanied the impending dawn. He gazed up at the clouds, breathing deeply into his nose, smelling the morning air. His eyes remained blank as he peered at the dark clouds hanging over him, until they suddenly filled with realization.

“Ah,” he said aloud.

Rain.

Well, better grab the hat.

He spent the morning packing up his campsite, and wondering where he ought to go. The forest wasn’t quite thick enough to shelter him from the rain yet, as it was still early in the springtime. He’d never make it to the hills before the rain would begin, and he wasn’t keen to the idea of getting caught in the downpour. He’d just bathed the day before, in fact, and he really didn’t want to get all wet again.

He’d just rolled up the canvas of his tent when he felt the first drop, heavy on his left paw, leaving a dark, circle-shaped stain. Hastily, he picked up a few of the enormous palm leaves he’d grabbed from a recent trip to the beach with Moomin, and laid them over the little fire pit he’d made. Hopefully, if the leaves would keep it dry, he wouldn’t need to build a new one over wet ground.

His coat was now spotted with dark drops that were coming down faster and heavier every passing second, and Snufkin wasn’t even done packing. He rushed to clip his tent over the top of his pack, water dripping from the brim of his hat onto his arms as he swung the pack around him, letting it rest snugly on his bag. He turned around in a circle slowly, analyzing to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He looked towards the hills. If he went there, the rain would be over before he’d even found shelter. The very trunks of the trees were already getting soaked— their leaves definitely weren’t thick enough to be adequate shelter. He turned around, instead looking to Moominhouse. He didn’t want to intrude, but it’s not like he had anywhere else, and the raindrops bouncing off of his hat were getting too loud for him to hear himself trying to think. So, sighing, he walked through the rain towards Moominhouse.

~~۞~~

When Moominpapa opened the door to light, sporadic knocking, the last thing he expected to see was an almost-soaked Snufkin, blank-faced, hat in hand and dripping water from the brim, requesting shelter from the rain.

“Ah! Is it raining?” Asked Moominpappa redundantly.

“Yes,” Snufkin deadpanned.

Moominpappa burst out in guffawing laughter. “Well, yes, of course! Come in, my boy!”

Snufkin nodded in thanks, careful to dry the soles of his boots on the welcome mat before entering. He placed his bag down gently in the corner of the room, wincing when water dropped off of it and formed a small puddle on the wood floor. He quickly untied his tent from his bag, rolling the canvas out flat, and setting the dry side on the ground, before placing his bag on that instead.

Moominpappa returned into the living room with two steaming cups of coffee, handing one to Snufkin. Snufkin took it, saying his thanks, and looked down at the dark liquid, making sure to mask his disdain. He’d never really liked coffee. That was one habit he’d never quite picked up from the Joxter. He always thought he should like it, and in one of the towns he had stopped in, he remembered reading about coffee suppressing the appetite, so it was certainly useful. Even so, he wasn’t sure he’d ever really make the choice on his own to drink it. Out of politeness, he sipped it, trying not to wince at the bitter flavor.

Moominpappa’s booming voice interrupted his thoughts. “Goodness, Snufkin, the rain must’ve come quite suddenly to have caught you off guard!” Moominpappa laughed good-naturedly. “You’ve always seemed to know around a day or two before it comes!”

While Moominpappa had been joking, Snufkin peered down at his boots, furrowing his brow into an unreadable expression, thinking for a moment. “Yes, it must’ve,” he confirmed, looking up after a second with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t sound all that sure of himself.

Moominpappa let out an enormous yawn, downing the rest of his coffee. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m off to bed!”

Snufkin’s eyes widened. “I didn’t wake you with my arrival, did I?”

Moominpappa laughed again. “Why, no, of course not! I had already been up since the wee hours.” He tapped his snout with a round finger. “Couldn’t quite go back to sleep, although I suppose I’ll try now. Make yourself comfortable, son, the rest of the family should be up within the hour!”

“Alright,” Snufkin responded, although he knew the Moomins likely wouldn’t be up for at least another few hours.

Moominpappa sent him a wink, before lumbering up the stairs. Snufkin heard the halls creak as wooden planks strained underneath Moominpappa’s feet, and the bedroom door open and shut. And then, the house was quiet, save for the rain pattering noisily outside.

Snufkin shuddered. Damn, it was cold. He looked at the steaming drink in his paws, wondering if the warmth he could gain from drinking it was really worth suffering the taste. He tilted his head, considering.

Nah.

He set the drink aside, before reluctantly removing his soaked coat and shoes and leaving them on the canvas to dry. He then took a seat on the couch, leaning his head against the armrest on the right. He had gotten… hm. Maybe two hours of sleep? He remembered heading to bed and letting his eyes shut just as Orion had rested his foot against the mountain, and at the start of the night, that same foot had been at the very top of a great redwood tree, and the clock on the Moomin’s wall set the time as close to 6:30, so… he guessed it was closer to three hours, generously. Two and a half, perhaps.

Snufkin wondered if it would be alright if he let his eyes shut, just for a few minutes— just to let himself rest, is all, not to really sleep. He was painfully aware that he wasn’t deserving of the extra rest, not in someone else’s home, but Snufkin’s head felt so heavy, and he thought that, if he repented later, he could allow himself to indulge in this moment. Only for a moment. He’d surely wake up soon.

His eyes shut, and he relaxed, his slowing breath dragging him from consciousness.

~~۞~~

Snufkin opened his eyes, and didn’t know where he was. His eyes focused on the sloping wood above him that was decidedly not the grass-stained canvas of his tent, and his eyes narrowed as he came to his senses. He bolted upright, leaping to his feet from the (surprisingly) cushiony platform he was laid on. He landed deftly on his back paws, arms up and ready to defend himself, to find himself… in Moomin’s living room. Little My snickered from somewhere behind him.

Ah, right. 

It all came flooding back— the rain, how he’d come here for shelter, Moominpappa, and laying down to rest… 

Oh, shit. He’d only meant to lay down for a short rest. He looked at the clock on the wall.

Holy fuck, it was 9:47.

“That’s… late,” Snufkin muttered under his breath.

“Oh, good morning dear! I have pancakes if you’d like.”

Snufkin turned quickly, to see Moominmamma in her apron. He sniffed. Oh wow, that smelled good. But… 

“Oh, no, I uh. I don’t want to intrude.” Snufkin turned his head to the window, expecting the sun to have returned by now, but—

“Well of course you wouldn’t be intruding! It’s still raining, after all, and a hot breakfast is just what you need.” Moominmamma gave him one of her smiles, that was both warm and welcoming, but also stern and intimidating, in a way that said “I know what’s best, and you’d better accept it.” 

Snufkin smiled back. “Alright, if it’s okay with you.”

Moominmamma headed back to the kitchen, humming a toneless tune as she continued cooking.

Little My sent Snufkin a wicked grin, for whatever reason, to which Snufkin only frowned at in response. He looked at his things, still laid out on the canvas of his tent, just the way he had placed them this morning. Nothing appeared to be broken or stolen, so who knew what Little My was so smug about.

He stepped over to his things, gently touching his bag, the cloth of his overcoat, pressing on the insides of his shoes. Most of everything was dry, but still had damp spots, and his shoes were still positively moist, so he figured he ought to leave them to dry for just a little while longer. Moominpappa would likely sleep in for a while, from how early he’d been up, but that still left a question that burned to the front of Snufkin’s mind.

“Excuse me,” he called, standing and taking a step toward the kitchen. “But where is Moomintroll?” 

Moominmamma turned to face him. “I was wondering when you’d ask that,” she replied, smiling in a way that said she knew something that Snufkin didn’t. That was a bit troublesome, but Snufkin decided to worry about it later. “He’s probably still sleeping. Say,” she continued, turning away to flip the pancake sitting on the griddle. “Breakfast is just about ready, so would you mind running up to go grab him?”

“Not at all,” Snufkin replied. He turned over his shoulder and went to climb the stairs, hearing Little My giggle behind him, followed by a “Hush!” from Moominmamma.

He walked through the hall, smiling as he heard a great snore when he passed the room where Moominpappa still slept, and carefully let himself into Moomin’s room, trying not to make any noise. The window was already open, shedding light across Moomin’s bed, and the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the glass set a peaceful ambience in the room. He saw Moomin curled up, lying on his side, hugging a pillow tight to his body. His eyes were shut, and his face, while peaceful, seemed… sad. He thought that, perhaps, his friend’s dream wasn’t all that pleasant at the moment.

Well, then he supposed waking up the sleeping creature wasn’t something to feel too guilty about, if he wasn’t enjoying his slumber so much.

He walked silently to Moomin’s bedside, leaning over to peer at his friend, and couldn’t help but smile at just how lovely Moomin was. He moved his paw to stroke Moomin’s fur, ever so gently, admiring at the softness of it. Moomin’s eyes flickered open, and a shaky sigh left his mouth. Snufkin’s smile brightened.

“Hello, Moomintroll.”

Moomin’s eyes blinked to his, and suddenly Moomin had shot up, crying out “Snufkin!”

“Oh,” said Snufkin, as Moomin pulled him into a fierce embrace. Snufkin moved forward so that he was kneeling on Moomin’s bed with him, wrapping his arms around Moomin to return the embrace.

“Oh,” he repeated, his voice muffled by Moomin’s fur. He leaned into the hug, letting his eyes close, pressing his face into the softness of Moomin’s fur, breathing in deeply. Moomin’s weight was against Snufkin, but he didn’t mind. Snufkin didn’t think he’d ever mind being so close to Moomin.

Oh , he thought.

When they finally pulled away, Snufkin felt breathless, for whatever reason, and couldn’t help but laugh at Moomin. “You great oaf, were you already awake when I came in?”

Moomin chuckled in return. “Well, sort of?” They both laughed, and moved so that they were sitting next to one another on the bed, facing the window. Moomin leaned his head on Snufkin’s shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Snufkin?”

Snufkin waved slightly towards at the window. “Needed shelter from the rain. Your father let me in early this morning, actually, and I took a nap on the couch for a bit.”

“Snufkin, sleeping? How could I have missed that?” Moomin teased.

Snufkin shook his head, grinning. “Your loss.” He watched the rain as it dotted up in little droplets against the glass window, staring at one ball of water. It got rounder, and bigger, collecting more and more bits of water, until Snufkin blinked, and it wilted under its own weight, having collected too much to bear. The water slid slowly down the window.

“Ah, Moomin. If you don’t mind me asking… well, not to sound like I didn’t enj— er, appreciate…” Christ, that sentence was a train wreck. Best to just move on. “Well. What was the hug for?”

Moomin breathed a deep sigh, shifting his weight off of Snufkin and sitting up straight. Snufkin felt a bit disappointed, not that he could pinpoint why.

“When I woke up, I saw the rain coming down, and so much of it, and I could see you had packed up your campsite,” he pointed at the spot on the hill where he could see where Snufkin had set up camp. “I guess I…” He trailed off, swallowing before continuing. “I suppose I assumed that you’d, you know. Left.”

Snufkin furrowed his brow, a slight smile on his lips. “Where would I have left to?”

“Oh, you know.” Moomin’s tone turned playful. “ Yonder.” He stretched an arm, gesturing widely to exaggerate the word. Snufkin couldn’t help but laugh.

Snufkin shook his head, still grinning. “Oh no, the rain came much too fast for that.” He tilted his head, thinking. “Although, if it floods again this year, I will have hoped that I really had gone off to, you know.“ He elbowed Moomin playfully. “Yonder.”

Moomin grinned at him. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t then.” His nose twitched. “Say, Snufkin, what’s that smell?”

Oh wow, Snufkin had completely forgotten about breakfast. “Your mother made pancakes,” he replied.

“Pancakes?!” Moomin cried, bolting up and rushing to the stairs. He stopped at the top of the stairs, still bouncing on his heels, craning his neck to shout back, “Come on, Snufkin, there’s pancakes!”

Snufkin chuckled, shaking his head. “Go on, Moomin, I’m coming.”

Moomin rushed down the stairs and into the dining room, while Snufkin descended rather calmly in comparison. Snufkin paused at the corner, hearing Moomin and his mother chatter, Little My scoff, and the general noise of the kitchen. He also heard a particularly loud snort from Moominpappa, somewhere upstairs. 

Snufkin breathed in deeply, composing himself, and really missed his overcoat. He evenly entered the dining room, quickly scanning it in a tactical sort of way, before resting his gaze on Moomintroll. Moomin excitedly patted the seat next to him, and Snufkin couldn’t help but smile, and walked over to take the seat. He pulled out the chair, paused for just a moment (a barely noticeable motion, if at all), and then carefully sat down.

Every bone in his body was telling him to leave.

The smell was so strong, so enticing, and all too alluring, and made Snufkin feel sick to his stomach, emphasizing the dull, constant pain he felt within his core. He felt his stomach pulse, and thought he might faint. He took a deep breath to compose himself, and sat up straight in his seat, sucking in his stomach and begging it not to growl too loudly or the Moomins might hear it.

He eyed a glass of milk as Moominmamma placed it in front of him, smiling his thanks, and dropping the smile as soon as she looked away. He examined the drink, thinking.

“Milk is very fatty,” a voice annoyingly similar to Little My’s said.

Most breakfast foods are, Snufkin thought back. Breads, and such.

Another voice, like the boy version of Little My, questioned, “So why eat it at all?”

Snufkin couldn’t quite think of a response before yet another voice— Jesus, all his siblings just decided to show up in his brain today— jumped in, another little boy, saying in a know-it-all fashion, “Well if he eats something in the morning, then it’s scientifically proven he won’t feel hungry enough to eat later on in the day.”

Snufkin tried not to roll his eyes. Can we please get back to considering the milk?

“Yes, about this milk I’ve heard so much about,” said a slightly-less-shrill girl. “It doesn’t sound like you really want it.”

“It doesn’t sound like you really want to eat at all, Snufkin,” the know-it-all said again.

“Yeah, what are you doing all this for?” Littler Little My spoke again.

Well, I can’t expect you all to understand. Snufkin felt himself getting a bit more agitated. It’s not like they were the ones seated at a table full of eyes and expectations and a smell that, honestly, should not be allowed to be clouding up Snufkin’s mind the way it was.

I’m expected to. It’s… not so much a matter of wanting to as it is that I have to—

All the sibling-like voices began to chime in, overlapping, scrambling together and apart and barely distinguishable, and Snufkin felt a bit miffed at being cut off in his own thoughts.

“But do you really have to, Snufkin?”

“Make an excuse.”

“Ask for water instead…”

I can’t let them down like that, you don’t—

“Say you’re not feeling well!”

“Try saying you’re not in the mood.”

“Say that coffee you had was too filling!”

I barely had any, they’ll know that—

“You should say you’ve suddenly found yourself quite intolerant to chewing.”

Voices and suggestions swirled around his thoughts, clouding his vision and hurting his ears. He couldn’t focus on one at a time, which didn’t exactly make this situation any easier. He felt himself getting just a bit panicked.

“You don’t belong at this table, you’re not their family.”

“You know you don’t deserve all this.”

“They really are too nice to you…”

“We’re really trying to help you here, you know.”

“Ask for water instead.”

“You know this doesn’t feel right.”

“Don’t be useless, boy, assert yourself—“

Snufkin’s breath caught in his throat, the voices were deeper, and louder, and his brow narrowed as he glared at the milk.

“Ask for water.”

“You don’t need this, not right now.”

“Get out of the situation…”

“Don’t hurt anyone’s feelings though.”

“Leave!”

“Be careful about how you go about all this.”

“You shouldn’t be here!”

“This isn’t working, Snufkin!”

“YOU NEED TO FIND A WAY OUT—“

The voices were abruptly cut off by a gentle touch to his paw.

“Snufkin?” A refreshingly soft, and relievingly real voice sounded from next to him.

Ah. Moomin.

Snufkin tuned out the cacophony in his head. “Yes, Moomintroll?” he responded with even softness, forcing down the panic from his throat back to his stomach.

“Are you quite alright, Snufkin?” Moomin asked in an almost-whisper, brow furrowed.

Snufkin very nearly didn’t know how to respond to that. The noise in his head began sounding again in a gentle, warning murmur. He pressed a claw against his right arm, refocusing at the sharp pain, and silencing the meaningless sound. “Why yes, Moomintroll, I am. Why do you ask?” Snufkin kept his tone neutral, not daring to relay the underlying panic he was feeling, trying not to let his eyes watch the walls of the Moominhouse closing in on him more and more with each passing second, and instead focusing on each individual strand of fur on Moomin’s snout.

He shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in as deeply as he could without drawing attention to himself, once, twice, then three times. Moomintroll’s answer sounded somewhere in the background, but Snufkin couldn’t quite tell what it was. No matter. He opened his eyes, calmer now, and resisted the urge to look around, for fear that that might reawaken the panic from where he’d banished it to the pit of his stomach and the depths of his mind.

Instead, he refocused on the milk.

“Waste not want not,” Joxter’s voice rang reassuringly from inside his head.

Snufkin picked up the glass and took a gulp of the thick liquid. It slid down his throat, mixing with the fear and frustration at the bottom of his stomach to form a thick sort of sludge, and Snufkin felt a little bit sicker for it. He decided to ignore the feeling for now.

Moominmamma walked around the table, and placed two plates down in front of Snufkin and Moomin. On each plate were three thick, steaming pancakes, each stack topped with a square of melting butter and sugary syrup, coating a medley of fresh berries. Surrounding the pancakes was six little sausages and three bacon slices, slick with grease. It looked gorgeous, and smelled incredible, and Snufkin tightened his jaw. His mouth watered.

He plastered on a bewildered smile, laughing good-naturedly. “Oh, Moominmamma, this is simply too much!”

“Nonsense!” she replied, and Snufkin felt his resolve crumble a bit. “You’re far too skinny from all that walking you do, dear, so I’d better see a clean plate soon.” She waggled her finger, scolding him, but a glint in her eyes and the smile on her face exposed her humor. Snufkin laughed in response. It sounded fake.

He looked down at the food and felt a little bit dizzy. He didn’t want to anger Moominmamma, or worry Moomin, but he didn’t want to eat either.

He felt guilty about that. Moominmamma had made him all this food, and now he wouldn’t even take a bite?

Joxter’s voice sounded again in Snufkin’s mind, repeating his words of wisdom. Snufkin shrugged, internally, and tossed his hesitation to the wind, cutting into the stack of pancakes, and doing his best to ignore the growing feeling of dread looming over his shoulders. He stabbed a piece with his fork, and brought it to his lips, and avoided thinking about how with each bite, the food sat uncomfortably on top of the panic he’d done his best to swallow earlier.

~~۞~~

The meal was finished. Snufkin left half of the third pancake on the plate, and didn’t touch the bacon. He had eaten all the sausages, and though he had to push his hands into his lap to keep them away from his plate, he had resisted the bacon. Moomin offered to help with the rest, to which Snufkin gladly obliged. Moominmamma has begun to scold Moomin, but Snufkin laughed in response, saying, “Oh, please don’t blame him, I’m sure you all know how I eat like a bird.” He had tittered lightly at that with the rest of them, and he finished his milk, and then politely asked to be excused to the restroom.

As soon as he was out of sight, his brow furrowed, and the even smile dropped from his face.

He kept his pace steady and slow, hearing the voices of the Moomins and Little My fade away as he walked up the stairs. He crept past the bedroom, in which he heard Moominpappa let out a great snort. He avoided the creaky step outside the bedroom (Moominpappa had bragged about it years ago, stating that he could easily be alerted of burglars by the step alone. He had then frowned after his bragging. “I do hope you’re not planning on burglaring us anytime soon, Snufkin.”) and gently pushed open the wooden door to the restroom before shutting it behind him, and twisting the lock.

He went limp against the door. He breathed in deeply, wincing at a sharp pain in his ribs. He breathed out in a shaky sigh, and his features darkened into a scowl. He took a lurching step forward, then another, staring at his reflection. His hair was auburn, and too long. When was the last he’d cut it? It was at least a few inches past his ears. That was gross. He felt gross. He’d have to ask Moominmamma where her scissors were kept.

He looked into his own eyes. Gross. He wanted his jacket. It would swallow him up and shield him from judgement, hide him from prying eyes and pitying stares. Moominmamma always joked that he was far too thin, but he knew it wasn’t true. He was fine, and any perceived frailty was a sign of weakness on his part, not a sign of… need. Like, for something. For food.

Speaking of. Yikes. He turned to the toilet, considering, before immediately banishing those thoughts. He felt sick enough already, no need to deface the Moomins’ house by making that sickness seem real.

His paws curled into fists, and his claws dug deep into his palms. He narrowed his eyes, feeling them grow hot and moist.

What? No, no. No no no no no.

He hadn’t cried in ages. He wasn’t going to cry now. He absolutely would not, especially not in someone else’s home. He owed it to the Moomins to be put together, happy.

He took a few deep breaths, solidifying the wet, liquid feeling, and pushing it down, way down, until it hardened into guilt, and melted into shame, only to settle into a steaming, boiling, scalding sensation of anger.

His palms were bleeding now. He felt the warm, crimson liquid dripping down his paw. He opened his eyes, looking around the room for something to hit, to get it out— something that wouldn’t break or make a loud noise, but all of the Moomins’ things were so nice, and he was so crude and ugly among it all, and so he aimed his fist at his forearm instead, and hit it as hard as he could. His arm warmed in pain, and he felt a little more real, a little more solid, a little more angry. His brow furrowed. He hit the same spot again, and then again, and over and over until the arm was black and blue under his white sleeve, and tingling and sore with pain.

He uncurled his fists, feeling his claws leave from where they had pierced the skin. The bleeding had stopped, mostly, so he washed all the red from his hands, and splashed some cool water against his face. He checked the ground, and quickly wiped up a drop of blood that had fallen onto the floor, thankful that it hadn’t stained. He fussed a bit with his hair, and placed a paw on the knob, steeling himself to be able to return to the dining room, and hoping no one would question him as to why he’d taken so long. He took a deep breath, and smoothed out his face. He opened the door, stepping out of the restroom, and stopped short. He’d nearly ran into Moomin, who was leaning his shoulder against the wall next to the door.

“You were in there for quite a while,” Moomin murmured softly.

Snufkin tried to laugh, playing it off, quickly donning a sort of unbothered facade. “Now, Moomin, I’d hoped you’d think me a bit more decent than that.”

Moomin didn’t laugh, or smile. “Snufkin,” he began, and straightened up, shifting his weight and messing with his paws.

Snufkin’s mouth went a little dry. He was keenly aware of the solid wall behind and surrounding him, and how Moomin stood between him and the stairs downstairs. Internally, he cursed the design of the Moomins’ home, placing the bathroom at the end of a dead end hall.

“Snufkin, I know you know how well I know you…”

Oh, god.

“… I know something isn’t right, and I want… I just, you know you can tell me about these things, right?”

What exits out of this did he have? One, two doors in and out of the house, but both were downstairs, and Moomin stood between him and the way down. Windows, however, were a different story.

Moomin took another deep breath. “You’ve, I've never seen you more uncomfortable than tonight, and I tried to make you more at ease, you know. I’ve chalked the, the not eating and the stiffness up to nerves, but I've seen you, nervous, before, and it’s just, it’s different, you know?”

Three stories, though, and he’s on the second.

“I saw you, that night. I’ve seen the… the bruises, and you’re really far too gaunt to just not be hungry like you’ve said…”

A fall from the second floor couldn’t be that bad, though. Which windows were closest?

“I just. I can’t really tell what’s wrong, I just know something is, and… I don’t know. I’m, is someone doing this to you? Are you doing this to yourself, Snufkin? Please, I promise you can tell me, I wouldn’t even tell Mamma if it’d make you feel better…”

The closest one was out of My’s bedroom. That wasn’t too bad, there were bushes under there to cushion his fall.

“Snufkin, please, can you say something?”

Snufkin met Moomin’s eyes. They were wide, open, and pleading, and Snufkin felt his breath catch in his throat. He tried to let it out, and couldn’t, and suddenly found himself struggling to breathe. Any trains of thought he’d had running through his mind now collided into one another and crumbled into pieces of shattered feelings and imagery, all sounding at once and flying into a storm of dust and shards that pricked at the back of his eyes. Snufkin tried to take a step, to feel his feet on the floor, but his knees were weak, and he stumbled forward instead, and grabbed onto Moomin’s arms for support. Moomin gripped Snufkin’s arms at the elbows, catching him and straining to keep him upright, calling his name twice, but Snufkin could barely hear it past the pounding in his head. Snufkin became starkly aware of a dryness in his mouth, and sank slowly to the ground, Moomin coming with him, trying to hold him stable, Snufkin’s panic reflecting in Moomin’s eyes.

Snufkin shrank in on himself, shaking uncontrollably and choking on the very air he tried to breathe. He coughed once, twice, and a third time, and his entire body was thrust forward into Moomin’s arms. He grunted, consciously trying to convert this overwhelming panic into something else, desperately grasping at a spot of irritability he sensed within himself, and frustration at this level of emotion, this lack of air, and—

Oh god, the vulnerability of it all. The total lack of self control. The irritability within him grew, but became just another emotion, doing nothing to stop the overwhelming senses of everything.

Snufkin squeezed his eyes shut, his breath going hot, his brow darkening and teeth grinding together. He tried to silence his mind, shaking his head against another wave of total fear that wracked his body. He huffed again, willing it all to just stop, for his body to just stop shaking, he was fucking cold and Moomin was saying something that was probably important but he couldn’t even hear it , which just wasn’t fair at all because he loved to hear Moomin’s voice and now all this…  humiliating, overwhelming, muck, was taking that away from him. He felt the coolness of air slip halfway down his forearm, which meant his sleeve had pushed up a bit, which meant that if Moomin bothered to look he’d see the fresh bruise, and oh god how many more problems was he going to have to deal with today, he just needed something, one thing to solve one of these issues, that was all—

“Jacket.” The word came out a hoarse whisper, scarcely a croak. Snufkin felt Moomin tighten his grip on him, and heard him say something in return, but it was muffled and he couldn’t understand it. He swallowed thickly, opening his eyes slowly and flickering his gaze up to Moomin’s.

“Jacket,” he repeated, and this time there was a bit of voice behind it to push it out a little more, a little bit of irritated energy behind it, which he hoped could push down the horrible feeling of begging, and mask the neediness with a harsh streak.

Moomin said something again, and Snufkin watched his mouth move and tried to match it to the sound that reached his ears. He thought he could hear a little more clearly now, and focused on Moomin’s lips.

“Your jacket? You want your coat?”

He nodded, swallowing again, and curled up into a ball, knees hugged to his chest, hissing at another sharp pain in his ribs and at the unrest in his head. But as Moomin made to get up, the walls seemed to close in more with the slightest distance between the two of them, and a gripping terror seized him, and his right hand shot out to grab Moomin’s arm.

“Don’t,” he gasped, and then shoved his head behind the crook of the elbow that still sat on his knees. He shuddered violently as this newfound panic intensified everything all over again, and hissed again in frustration at the realization that the involuntary pain of breathing didn’t ground him like the purposeful pain he was accustomed to. It just made it all worse.

Moomin looked a little freaked out, now that he bothered to notice. Snufkin couldn’t blame him, that’s for sure.

“Snufkin, I— it, it’s gonna be okay.” Moomin knelt next to him on the floor again, and Snufkin moved his iron grip from his arm to the fur on his chest, focusing on the soft texture, softer than cotton or even wool. Moomin then wrapped him in a firm embrace, and Snufkin pressed himself further against the softness, willing himself smaller so that the inkling of safety he now felt might grow a little easier, spread faster.

Eventually, his shuddering stopped, and his hands unclenched, lying gently against Moomin’s fur, and he could breathe about as normally as he usually could. His mind was calmer, quieted, dulled by exhaustion, and weighed down by a touch of shame. The tension in his face and arms had lessened, and now he was aware of how tightly Moomin held him, and how gently the troll stroked his hair.

He opened his eyes against Moomin’s fur, sighing deeply. “That was a bad one,” he murmured, and dug his nose deeper into Moomin’s chest.

“‘A bad one?’” Moomin repeated, his voice gentle, but tentative. He paused in stroking Snufkin’s head, much to his quiet dislike. “You mean, that’s happened before?”

Snufkin thought he might cry all over again. “Well…” He swallowed, unsure of how to answer. “Let’s talk about this some other time, okay?”

The question hung in the air around them, and Snufkin felt Moomin’s paws tighten against him as the troll hesitated. Snufkin shut his eyes against hot tears that were building up, taking in deep breaths to steel himself against the feeling. He’d felt enough emotion for today, and for forever, as far as he was concerned.

Moomin’s paw moved again, resuming the gentle petting of Snufkin’s head.

“ … Okay.”

Snufkin breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was safe, for now. He could be okay. 

Chapter Text

Snufkin had stayed the night, spending the rest of the day in relative silence, not that that was very different from his normal. In fact, most of the day felt pretty ordinary. He was just inside, this time. After calming down and resting for a bit with Moomin, he’d completed a puzzle with Little My, helped Moominmamma wash up (he felt guilty about breakfast, not that she knew any of what had happened after), and started reading some old english play with Moominpappa. They had a soup for dinner that Snufkin gave most of to Little My, trying to ignore Moomin’s eyes on him as he offered his plate to her, before they all retired to bed. 

Now, in the early morning of the next day, Snufkin had been the first to wake. He’d carefully disentangled himself from Moomin and tentatively walked down the hall, skipped the creaky plank and padded softly down the stairs. He tensely unlocked the door, his hands a little shaky and his mind still a little sleepy. When he opened the door, he winced at the light that shone brightly against him as the rising sun pushed her head over the hills, and shut his eyes against the brightness, instead focusing on the crisp, cool air of dawn, letting it wake him up in a far kinder way. Once he felt he’d adjusted properly, he opened his eyes slowly. He was glad to find he could see without squinting, but his brow furrowed at what he saw, and he walked out to the edge of the patio, gazing at what had become of the valley. 

Snufkin leaned off of the railing, staring at a world that might as well have been completely wrecked.

The storm had gotten particularly bad the previous night, and while Moomin had slept soundly with Snufkin in his arms, Snufkin had found himself drifting in and out of a restless doze, somewhere in between sleep and consciousness. On the one hand, he’d been exhausted, and Moomin was so comforting, and so he should’ve found it easy to sleep. But his mind struggled to relax, pondering on the state of his campsite. The howling of the wind was a threatening soundtrack, and Snufkin wondered what he was to do now.

The question confronted Snufkin harshly as he gazed at the tree branches stolen from the forest and strewn across the valley. The grass only remained in flattened patches, and the barely new spring blooms had been torn and shredded to petals and limp stems.

A breeze fluttered up Snufkin’s coat and across his face, ruffling his hair before whistling off to rustle the ruined bushes behind Moominhouse. Snufkin closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of a soaked world. He looked up at the sky, and raised a paw to chew on a thumbnail as worry furrowed his brow. The sun seemed cheerful and happy, and the birds chirped as though they’d already forgotten the rage of an angry night. The sky was nearly clear. Nature was moving on. 

But should he move with it? Snufkin had always felt that a storm was a sign, of sorts; this one seemed to be a particularly strong one. It had come with Snufkin’s arrival. What should it’s departure symbolize?

He sighed, a lead blanket of dread laying itself over him like a thin layer of early morning dew over the petals of a flower, and a miserable determination filled his eyes. He placed his hat on his head, and his gaze turned into a piercing glare at the remaining wisps of gray that slowly moved to the west, lagging behind their angry brothers that visited last night. He tried to shake off the unnerving thought that surfaced, that somehow this was his fault, that he brought with him misfortune as he stepped foot into the valley. That, in some sort of way, he was a curse to any place he dared to even think of as a contender for some sort of “home.”

“Snufkin?”

He turned abruptly, surprised at the interruption to his little pocket of silence. Moomin yawned, stepping out of the door and wincing at the chilly morning air. “Why are you up so early?” Despite himself, Snufkin couldn’t help the gentle smile that played across his lips at the sight of his friend. 

The little troll looked around, slow to take in the view. After a couple seconds his sleep-clouded vision cleared, and his eyes widened as he processed what he saw. “Woah… was the storm last night really that bad?”

Snufkin’s gaze grew heavy. “Yes.” He turned over his shoulder to gaze at the sight of the valley once more, before sticking his hands in his pockets and clearing his face of distress. “Come,” he said, turning back to Moomin and ushering him inside. “Help me waterproof my tent.”

Moomin laughed lightheartedly as he stepped back in, thankful for the warmth. “Didn’t you already do that a couple years ago?”

Snufkin pulled off his shoes, before running over to his canvas, pushing his bag off of the neatly folded cloth. “Ah, yes, but that was a different stretch of canvas, you see—“ he brought the cloth over to Moomin, gesturing for the other boy to feel it— “I just bought this cut, and it’s much nicer; very tightly woven.” He pulled at the fabric gently, and pointed at the tiny threads. Moomin leaned in, eager to see, and Snufkin’s breath hitched for some unknown reason when the white fur brushed against his neck, and he quickly turned his focus back to the cloth. 

“See, Moomin, you can pull it all you want as hard as you can, but— look! —you can’t see through it, there’s no holes!” Snufkin grinned at the cloth, letting it go lax in his and Moomin’s hands, and began to gather up the rest of the cloth with one of his paws, letting it drape over his arm.

Moomin grinned too, but at Snufkin, rather than at the cloth. “I take it you’re very proud of this purchase, Snufkin?” His tone was lightly teasing, and Snufkin met his eyes, before a slight blush colored his cheeks, and he ducked under his hat.

“Well, yes. It cost a good bit, is all.”

Moomin giggled. “Oh, Snufkin, I’m only teasing!” He wrapped his arms around one of Snufkin’s, leaning against him for support and looking over his shoulder at the cloth. “So, how do we get it waterproof?” 

Snufkin’s grip on the canvas tightened, and he tensed up, a bit surprised at the contact. He peered down at Moomin, before a slight smile played across his lips, and he relaxed, looking back at the cloth. “Well, the first thing I’m going to need is…”

~~۞~~

The cloth had been painted evenly with some tar from a jar Snufkin had left behind since the last time he’d needed it, and Snufkin had hung it up to dry in the sunlight, before taking a seat on the bridge. He didn’t relay his concerns of the storm to Moomin, not yet, because he knew Moomin wouldn’t like to think about that. To be honest, he felt the same. Perhaps, if he kept busy, and stayed a guest to the valley, he could beat away his unlucky shadow. If he did not treat the valley like a sort of home, then it shan’t really be one, right? No matter what he may think it to be from time to time.

He smiled up at the clear skies, and leaned off of an open window to take a whiff of the air. Not quite summer air, not yet, for the moisture was imminent as it rose off of fragrant flowers and grass, still wet from the morning frost. But not rainy, none of that heavy muted feeling that weighs down on all below, not exactly a physical weight, but the tense fear to prepare, for one should be coming soon. And for the lack of this, Snufkin was happy.

Snufkin never really hated the rain, he quite liked it, in fact. But it was inconvenient, especially to Moomin, who didn’t like the rain at all, and Snufkin didn’t really like getting wet when it wasn’t of his own accord. Being in the rain was nice for late night letter-writing while sitting on the windowsill of a hotel room he’d rented for the night with the coins he swiped from some old rich monocle-type fellow, the type that Moominpappa wanted to seem like, but he was far too kind and boisterous and not nearly smug enough, or stuck-up enough to truly be one. Being in the rain was nice for ducking into a cave at dusk, or as a sign that it was time to leave this particular town, or in the early mornings while the sun came up and he’d only been traveling for about an hour, when he can’t really be upset about getting too wet, because the afternoon sun will appear in patches against the forest floor to warm him as he walks. But he couldn’t help but be irritated in these sparse months, when he just wants to stay still, to resist the demand to keep moving, yet everything around him urged him to leave.

That wasn’t to say it wasn’t internal, either. Snufkin often felt anxious, during these stays. He wondered how many paths he could’ve taken, cities he could’ve gone in this time he’d spent resting, but he tried to put those thoughts to bed, because they did him no good. The valley was a place he liked, after all, and isn’t it worth returning to a place? Having something to anchor you somewhere?

Joxter had once compared a life of travel to a ship. “Every ship has an anchor,” he’d said. “It doesn’t use it all the time, sure, but once it finds its dock, the anchor will keep it there for as long as they need each other.” He’d said it to Snufkin, but his gaze was at Mymble.

Snufkin’s head hurt. He didn’t want to think of Joxter and Mymble right now.

Snufkin heard Moomin hollering at Little My from somewhere in the house, and he smiled, letting the memory return to fog. He pulled out his pipe and lit it, sucking in the smoke and holding his breath, letting it settle, before releasing. He shut his eyes, and with the bubbling of the stream, the rustling of nature, and the faint cacophony of his company in the background, he wondered if he could forget all his stress, just in this moment. He savored the feeling.

It was a little while later that he heard Moominpappa calling his name in his cheery, loud sort of way, and Snufkin sighed and put his pipe away. The sun was high in the sky, and there weren’t any clouds signaling any misfortune, so Snufkin figures he ought to head back up to Moominhouse anyway. He needed time to set up his camp before nighttime, after all. He trudged up the hill, stopping to say hello to a little cream colored butterfly on his way, and walked up to the old Moomin, who squinted through his monocle.

“You called, sir?”

“Ah!” Moominpappa broke out into that half-pleased, half-mischievous grin that meant something Snufkin usually found concerning. “I have something to show you, my boy.” And he turned and bounded merrily into the house, giving Snufkin no choice but to follow. He followed the man up the stairs, all the way to the attic. And there, Moominpappa stopped at a corner way in the back of the attic, and gestures to the floorboards.

“Help me lift that one up, dear boy.”

Snufkin nodded, and knelt to the ground, digging his claws into the crevices around the loose board, and prying it up, revealing a large compartment hidden underneath the floors. “Oh,” he said, looking down at the contents.

Moominpappa laughed heartily. “You know, I’d completely forgotten about this little spot, but I just dropped my cane on this spot this morning and the thump struck me as being hollow. Then I remembered,” he grinned. “This is where old Joxter would put his things for when he’d come over!” Moominpappa was grinning widely. Snufkin was a little shocked. He didn’t take his eyes off of the collection of things in the hole. 

“By the way, Snufkin,” Snufkin turned his eyes up, alert at Moominpappa’s serious tone. The man was still smiling, though, so Snufkin didn’t feel too afraid. “Did you set up a meeting with Joxter at all? During your travels?”

“Ah,” Snufkin quickly looked down, his eyes widening. “Um. Well, no, not this year.” He turned a bit red, feeling guilty. Well, it wasn’t a total lie. He certainly hadn’t planned to see Joxter.

“Oh, well that’s a real shame.” Moominpappa turned his head towards the window of the attic. “Well, if you see him next winter, do bid him hello for me! And tell him to return my letters!” Moominpappa’s tone had mock anger, and his eyes glinted with mischief, with a tinge of something behind it. Snufkin laughed and nodded.

“If I see him, i’ll be sure to relay him the message.” 

Moominpappa gave him a curt nod, his grin turning less mischievous and more glad. “Well, I’ll leave you with his things, I suppose. Let me know what you think of them, alright?” When Snufkin smiled and nodded, Moominpappa turned and left the room.

Well, hello, Snufkin thought, looking at the array of things before him. He pulled out a little collection of letter tied together with some twine, and tugged one free. They all appeared to be from Mymble. He unfolded it and began reading a few lines, winced, and immediately refolded it and stuck it back in with the pile, his ears turning a little pink. He hastily placed the letters back, and decided to never look at those again.

Next to the letters had been a little green paperback book, which Snufkin immediately took a liking to. He opened it, reading the title. A Separate Peace. Hopefully it didn’t have anything that was so… explicit. He flipped through it, scanning a couple passages. It didn’t seem to. He decided he’d try to have it finished before fall.

Last in the little chamber was the most obvious object: Joxter’s banjo, that he had apparently left behind. Or perhaps it was a spare? Snufkin pulled up the case, unlatching it and gently picking up the instrument, weighing it in his hands. It was a bit small, and didn’t have the flowers carved into the handle that he remembered of Joxter’s. Must be a spare, then. He leaned back against the wall under the window, cradling the banjo in his lap and looping the strap over his shoulders. He strummed it lightly, wincing at the out of tune strings. He pulled out his harmonica.

Hmm. What were the tuning notes again? He hummed a bit, plucking the strings until he was certain of the notes, and got to work tightening and loosening the strings. He worked at the shortest string, the fifth, (the thumb, if the rest were fingers, he thought humorously) and pulled it tighter and tighter, until it was an octave above the second. He strummed it, tilting his head. He hummed a note against his harmonica. Tighten the third string. Another strum. Ah, perfect. 

He smiled, and plucked out a quick tune against the strings, sliding his left hand up and down the neck.

Ouch. He hissed a bit. The thick metal strings weren’t very gentle on the skin, much tougher than any of the guitars he’d pick up every now and then from eager patrons in bars, playing for a little change, or a meal from a happy villager. He remembered Joxter would cover his fingertips, either with bandages, or…

Snufkin turned back to the case, running his hands across it until he found what he was looking for. A little compartment! In it were three extra brass strings, and a little velvet drawstring bag that clinked as he picked it up. Inside was a collection of shining, silvery thimbles. Snufkin’s brow furrowed as he looked down at them. Methodically he reached into the bag, slender fingers plucking a single thimble out of the bag, tilting his head to watch it glint in the light, before sliding it onto his right pointer, and repeating with the rest. They were all perfect, little silver tins. Cups for faeries, he remembered his younger sisters saying. Shit, there was that headache again.

He shook his head to clear it, focusing again on the little sack of thimbles. There were two extras in the bag. That one’s not perfect, he thought, noticing the rust stains on one. Lucky that it isn’t corrupted it’s siblings. He grinned at the thought, deciding that particular thimble to be his favorite, and replacing the one on his pointer with it. He smiled a little smugly. If it were green, it might resemble his hat, just without the great brim.

He lowered his fingers and went back to plucking out that little tune. He hit a stray note and winced. Wrong string. He played that measure again, but it still wasn’t right. 

Hmm. He slid his left hand down a little lower, adjusting his hold, and plucked again. No, that wasn’t it… maybe if he held down the fourth a little closer, and played the fifth at the same time… ah! That was it! He played the measure over a couple times until he was satisfied, and began again, smiling once he moved past the measure. He hummed along softly, eyes closed, a sung tune coming to mind, but not the words. He kept plucking along and humming the notes, and furrowed his brow, trying to remember the words. Who was singing? Joxter, and Mymble? Or one of his sisters? It was a duet, at least. What had they been singing about? Blurry images came to mind, and he made out the inside of that old cabin… 

“Shit.” He cursed aloud as a sharp pain struck him from behind the eyes, and his fingers tightened suddenly against the strings, squeaking abruptly against several wrong notes before the neck clattered to the floor, his paws moving to hold his head instead. A bit of concern for the instrument flashed to the front of his mind, but was quickly blocked out by the pain. This is why I don’t think, he thought.

“Are you alright, Snufkin?” A voice asked softly from the doorway. Snufkin jumped, his eyes snapping wide open, and the banjo slid completely off of his lap this time, thudding loudly against the floor, the string vibrating with the cacophony. Snufkin winced, mentally apologizing to the poor thing. He stared at the door, seeing a very concerned-looking Moomin peeking in from around the doorway.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Moomin gave a rushed apology, opening wide the door just to stand in the entrance. “I heard the music, so I stopped to listen from behind the door, but then you sounded like you were in pain, so I thought i’d check…” he trailed off. “Um. I’m sorry.”

Snufkin gave him a pained smile. “It’s alright, Moomintroll, I don’t mind. Just a bad headache, is all.” Moomin nodded quickly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked a bit awkward, standing like that. Snufkin smiled a bitch humorously. “You can come in, if you’d like.”

Moomin sort of lit up with excitement, but quickly tried to hide it. Snufkin played along, hiding his grin and turning to rescue the fallen banjo, gently cradling it and whispering his apologies as Moomin walked over to the little corner and sat down next to Snufkin, leaning against the wall.

“Are you… talking to it?” Moomin asked, lifting an eyebrow at Snufkin’s whispers.

Snufkin turned back to him. “He makes for quite interesting conversation, you know,” he deadpanned, feigning irritability. When Moomin’s eyes widened, shocked, Snufkin threw back his head and laughed. “I’m kidding, Moomin, oh goodness!”

A grin stretched across Moomin’s face as he watched Snufkin laugh, and he giggled too. How rare it had gotten to hear that laugh. “Oh good,” he chuckled. “I thought you’d gone bonkers!”

“Not yet, sweetness,” Snufkin replied with a wink, “Not yet.” He brought his gentle gaze back down to the instrument, failing to notice the blush that colored Moomin‘s cheeks, or how stiff the boy had gotten. “No, I’m simply offering an apology. He and I are still new to each other, and all the dropping that’s already happened has made for a horrible first impression.” He looked back up to Moomin, who’s expression implied that he still was considering that Snufkin might have lost a marble or two over the past winter. Snufkin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I mean it in the way that, well,” he searched for the words, running his eyes across Moomin’s face. He took in a deep breath, holding it, before finding a train of thought and running with it. “A musician and their instrument are like a team, right?” Moomin’s eyes seemed to clear a little, and he nodded along.

“Right, I see.”

“Yes, and you have to work with the instrument. Get to know it, in every possible way. If you’re cruel to the instrument, it will be cruel right back. You have to play it… kindly. With, with, with a loving, gentle sort of touch— and it’ll sound the way you want. Play it the way you want it to sound, and it will respond in, in kind; if that makes sense.” Moomin smiled a little.

“It’s a bit like a person, then?”

“Yes! Exactly. Or,” Snufkin thought for a moment. “I suppose the sound is? I don’t know. Either way, it’s worth talking to. Part of, I suppose, getting to know the instrument, in a way.”

Moomin nodded wisely. “Like a relationship.”

Snufkin smiled, nodding back. “Yes, like a relationship, in a way. You have to spend enough time with it.” He held eye contact with Moomin, and his grip tightened on the neck of the banjo. The moment felt special. Snufkin’s head hurt a little more, so he decided against thinking on why.

“Yes,” Moomin said slowly, getting quieter. “So there has to be love, there?”

Snufkin held his gaze, a bit tense. “Yes,” he replied, but it came out as a whisper. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment that felt very long, before Moomin’s eyes crinkled with a happy sort of half-smile, and he turned away, leaning his head on Snufkin’s shoulder.

“Ah,” he said, very softly. “So that’s how it works.”

Snufkin turned back to the banjo, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Yes,” he whispered again. He smiled, feeling Moomin’s breath against him, and plucked out another tune on the banjo. His head wasn’t throbbing so much anymore, and he felt content. He closed his eyes as he plucked, wishing he could live in this moment forever, and the tune turned wistful. 

Moomin didn’t say anything, but he noticed the subtle lift in the tune. He closed his eyes too, feeling the vibration of Snufkin’s quiet humming, and let the gentle song guide his imagination to sunny winter days and pink cheeks, warm hands in brand new mittens and gentle smiles, and the sound of that rare, free laugh he’d missed for far too long, ringing like a bell every time he entered the room. 

Chapter Text

Snufkin opened his eyes, blinking a couple times to clear his vision, before looking hazily at the room before him. The attic was drenched in golden orange as the sun filled the room with her honey-gold rays. Moomin was a soft weight pressing on his shoulder, snoring gently. He didn’t remember putting the banjo idly to the side, but it sat next to him, just within reach. Snufkin peered down at the little troll on his shoulder, and smiled. The golden sunshine illuminated the dust floating lazily through the air, and formed a little halo in the fibers of Moomin’s white fur. Like an angel, Snufkin thought.

Moomin’s brow furrowed in his sleep, and he let out a great snort. Snufkin tried not to laugh. An angel in vision, perhaps, but earth-bound through and through. He relaxed his vision, peering out the window on the other side of the room, and rested his head softly atop Moomin’s. He could see the tops of the mountains, from here. They weren’t white anymore, and surely the river was raging with the melted snow adding to its usual stream. The yearly trout would be here, soon. He should fish tomorrow, once he could get back to his camp… 

Shit. Snufkin’s body tensed, and his eyes widened with the realization.

The camp! He didn’t want to stay another night here, surely he shouldn’t impose any longer on the Moomins, but daylight was sparse, and he never liked setting up after dark. He turned his gaze back to the earthly angel that trapped him here, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

He blew out some air, exasperated, and glanced back down to Moomin. A smile rose to his lips— he couldn’t help it, looking at Moomin sleeping like that— but his brow furrowed. Well, Moomin would have to wake up eventually and get properly to bed, or he’d be mighty sore tomorrow.

“Hey,” he whispered, shaking the boy lightly.

Moomin’s brow wrinkled. No response, though.

“Moomin?” Surely he was hearing him. His ear was right there. Their faces were practically touching. “Wake up, Moomin…”

Moomin groaned, tightening his eyes. “Juss… five more minutes…” he slurred, before twisting his body towards Snufkin and pressing his snout further into Snufkin’s shoulder.

Snufkin’s grin grew wider. He covered his mouth with the hand Moomin wasn’t restricting to keep a giggle from escaping, before turning back to the boy. “Are you dreaming, Moomin?”

“Mmhm.”

Cute, Snufkin thought. “What do you dream of?” He brought his free hand across himself, gently plucking some lint off the top of Moomin’s head.

“ … I love.”

Snufkin rolled his eyes. “Ah. Snorkmaiden requires your time in your dreams, too, then?” Needy woman.

“Noooo. Snufkin,” Moomin responded.

Snufkin furrowed his brow. “I guess you’re about done making any sense, then?”

No response from Moomin.

Snufkin sighed. “Wake up, then, please.”

Moomin let out a little whine. 

Snufkin shifted a bit, jostling Moomin very slightly, so that his face was next to Moomin’s. “Please, Moomin?”

Moomin’s eyes tightened, first,  before gently opening. “Snufkin?” He asked, surprised.

Snufkin was relieved. “Finally, you’re awake. Get off of me, please.” His tone stayed gentle, teasing, and Moomin yawned and complied, straightening up against the wooden attic wall. Snufkin shifted away from Moomin, wincing at pins and needles in his newly freed left hand, and pushed himself up into a squat. Five little thimbles were sat in a little pile atop the near empty little drawstring bag. He cupped them gently in his hand, poured them back into their velvet home, and pulled the string taught. He dragged over the banjo case, placed the velvet bag back in its hiding spot, and began strapping in the instrument, closing the top on it and clicking the clasps shut.

“It’s late, isn’t it?” Moomin called softly from behind him.

“I’d say we have an hour to nightfall,” he replied. Was there a key to the banjo clasps? He reopened the case, pulling at the compartment where the bag of thimbles had come from. He lifted up the little bag, the gentle clinking of metal sounding in the empty attic.

“Why are you packing, Snufkin?”

Snufkin laughed softly. “Well, I wasn’t planning on staying another night here—“ There, two little silver keys tied together with a bit of twine. “—And I was hoping to have my camp set up before it gets too dark.”

“Oh.” Moomin sounded a little forlorn. “Can I help?”

Snufkin looked over his shoulder, giving Moomin a grin. “That would be lovely, Moomintroll.”

Moomin smiled sheepishly in return, and grunted as he got to his feet. Snufkin turned back to the case, closing the lid and latching it shut, before twisting one of the keys in the one clasp that allowed it. With a click, he pulled the key out with a bit of a struggle, and tucked the keys away in a pocket on the inside of his coat, next to where he kept his harmonica.

“What should I do?” Moomin knelt next time Snufkin, awaiting instruction.

“Well… “ Snufkin glanced back at the little hole in the floor. He picked up the case, lifting the handle and pushing it gently towards Moomin. “Do you think you could bring this downstairs and set it next to my bag and things?”

Moomin grinned. “Of course!” He said, jumping to his feet and eagerly pulling up the banjo.

“Please be careful,” Snufkin warned, and Moomin nodded before very carefully making his way out of the attic. Snufkin let out a breath, and turned back to the hole. Well, Joxter, he thought, gently riffing through the collection of things. Anything I need here? He saw that little green book from earlier. Something about… peace? 

Well, who doesn’t need a little extra peace every now and then? He picked up the book and slid it into his pocket, before grabbing the plank of wood and carefully pushing it back into place. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, at the window, and pushed himself onto his feet. He walked over to the window, hands balled into fists, and he glared at the sun as though he could force it back up. His jaw set. 

Better hurry, now, don’t dilly dally or you’ll miss out.

Snufkin winced. Joxter’s voice? Another memory ? The headache came raging back. Eugh . He shook his head to clear his thoughts, massaging a temple with one hand, and stalked across the room to the door, shutting it gently behind him.

Descending the stairs with light, but rapid, footsteps, he heard Moomin and Little My bickering in hushed tones. He entered the living room, rolling his eyes at the two and gathering up his bag and donning his hat. They were by the door, arguing over the banjo, of which My had apparently seen an opportunity to bother Moomin over. Little My had taken a seat on the banjo case, arms crossed, evil grin fixated on Moomin. She was refusing to move, even as Moomin urged her to get away, and Moomin seemed to get increasingly exasperated. Snufkin tuned out their arguing, checking his bag that everything was intact and clipping the rolled up canvas on the top of the bag. He had everything in place, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a swaying movement.

He turned, seeing Little My had fallen off her balance, the case swaying with her, tilting at a dangerous angle. Moomin quickly reached for it, but Snufkin could tell he wouldn’t be able to grab it in time. Dropping his bag, Snufkin bounded towards the case, throwing his paw underneath it, and quickly grasping the handle with his other paw, righting it abruptly and steadying it of any wobbles. His brow was furrowed, and he glared down at the case. Little My had gone silent. The room stilled, as though for a moment the whole world held its breath.

“ … Oh, Snufkin, I—“ Moomin began remorsefully, but Snufkin cut him off with a wave. ”It’s fine.”  He turned to Little My, smoothing out his expression, and with an even tone, said, “Leave it be, Little My. We’ve no time for your tricks today.” Then he walked back a couple steps to heft his bag onto his shoulders, walked back to the doorway, and pulled up the banjo case by the handle as well. “Coming?” He asked of Moomin, a glint in his eye.

“Oh,” Moomin said, surprised. “Um. Yes, of course!” And he hastily ran to open the door, gesturing for Snufkin to leave first. Snufkin smiled wearily and stepped out the door. The afternoon was golden in color, but sunlight was fading. He could set up at night if he wanted to, but it wasn’t exactly fun, not being able to see as clearly as he’d like. The air was still warm, signaling a heated summer night.

The gentle padding of his feet on the wooden porch was followed by the deep thuds of Moomin’s, which soon transferred to gentle rustling as they trudged down the grassy hill. Moomin felt a little awkward in the silence, and being unable to see Snufkin’s face. “Snufkin,” he called, but Snufkin seemed not to hear him.

“Snufkin!” he tried again, a little louder. Snufkin paused, and looked over his shoulder.

“Yes, Moomintroll?”

“Is something the matter, Snufkin?”

Snufkin’s eyes widened, and his expression was something a bit like surprise, before he lowered his gaze so his hat covered most of his face. He seemed to think for a moment, before he brought his eyes up to meet Moomin’s. “No, I’m quite alright. Just anxious to set up my camp.”

Moomin’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t tell if it was the shadowy lighting as the last remnants of the golden evening began to fade away, but something about Snufkin’s expression seemed… off.

“Perhaps, Moomin,” Snufkin’s voice rang out suddenly, and startled Moomin out of his thoughts. “You should head back home. I don’t want you tumbling down the hill in the dark!” He ended his sentence with a chuckle. Ah, Moomin realized, Snufkin had seemed to notice the fading light, too.

Moomin felt a little disappointed, as he’d wanted to help more— and perhaps, he could’ve stayed the night again in Snufkin’s tent. But if Snufkin wanted him to go home, he supposed he couldn’t argue against that. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, right Snufkin?”

Snufkin nodded, tipping his hat with a smile. “Goodnight, darling.”

Moomin flushed. “G-goodnight!” he cried, and turned around to rush up the hill. Snufkin’s smile turned a bit sad as he watched the troll scramble up the hill, before he turned over his shoulder and hurried his pace. He had to be able to see his campsite in order to set it up, after all.

~~۞~~

Snufkin settled in against the thin cotton sheet lining the floor of his tent, and shrugged off his coat, emptying the pockets and folding it up and placing it gently behind him to use as a pillow. He was surprised to feel a hard, flat lump still in the pocket, and carefully pulled the object out of the jacket. The little green book, of course— how could he have forgotten? He looked at it for a moment, before placing it gently inside of his pack in the corner of the tent, making a mental note to read some of it tomorrow. He brought a hand up to his chest and pressed gently over the loose cotton shirt, before quickly bringing the hand away, wincing at the soreness the contact brought. He thought of what Moomin would think, and frowned, chewing the nail of his thumb, considering his options. I guess I should. 

He reached beneath his shirt, running his fingers beneath the bandages, looking for the end piece, and pulled it away, loosening the cloth tape until it fell around his waist. He pulled the bandages away and balled them up, tossing them among his other things. He then took a deep breath, raising his arms above his head to stretch, and tried to ignore the sharp little pains that came with stretching out his torso for the first time in so long. He smiled— bitterly, but still— finding that it felt nice to breathe so deeply. So long as he didn’t look down, of course.

He laid down, relaxing against the thin cotton sheet lining the bottom of his tent, yawning and wondering exactly what time it was. He thought of a watch he’d stolen off of some big city businessman, and the brief urge he’d had to keep it for himself at the time. A timepiece would certainly be helpful. Alas, he’d sold it, for enough money to last him a couple months— which, in retrospect, had been the smartest option. But a watch is quite smart on its own, he couldn’t help but think. Ah, well, he’d awaken with the dawn— didn’t matter much what number on a clock that would align with. He snuffed out his lantern, and let his eyes drift shut, hoping to get a good amount of sleep, at least for just this night.

~~۞~~

Snufkin opened his eyes, to find himself standing on the gritty sand of the beach, staring at the top of an ocean. The waters were so calm and so still, they reflected the night sky perfectly, like glass. Snufkin felt if he looked at it too long, he wouldn’t be able to tell which was sky and which was ocean, whether he was upside down or right side up. He smiled gently at the scenery, breathing in deeply, but winced at the sharp smell of smoke. “Where could that be coming from?” he wondered aloud. He turned over his shoulder, and gasped, covering his mouth at the sight. A wall of flames raged behind him, engulfing the space the forest should be. “What—“ he began, but was cut off.

“Can’t see the forest, if the trees never stop burning,” a rather aloof Joxter said, placing a hand on Snufkin’s shoulder.

Snufkin glared, looking up at him. “Sounds like a joke, when you say it like that.”

Joxter grinned, not seeming to understand. “It is, to me.”

Snufkin’s face twisted in anger, and he shrugged Joxter’s hand off of his shoulder, running towards the flames. He threw his arms up to shield his face as he ducked through the red-hot flames and stumbled into the woods, running a couple yards. He slowed to a stop, breathing heavily and looking around with wide eyes, before collapsing into a fit of coughing. He looked up, eyes streaming with tears as he fought to control his breath, but couldn’t see the sky through the black smoke. It was only illuminated by the glowing flames. He spun around in desperation, searching the surrounding area for something to stop the burning, but only saw Joxter stroll calmly through the flames. Snufkin’s eyes narrowed.

“Where have you been all this time, anyway?” Snufkin shouted through coughs, propping himself up against a tree and directing his rage straight at him. “What have you come back for?” He spit the words, before gasping as the trunk his hand rested on crumbled to ash, and pushed his balance back onto his feet.

“Don’t you know?” Joxter shouted merrily back. “The garden of Eden, Snufkin! I found it!”

Snufkin’s frustration boiled over into desperation. “I thought you called all that theological shit nutty!”

“They got one thing right, my boy, the dream came true!” Joxter laughed heartily. “There’s a sort of humor in the idea of a bitter god, don’t you think?” Joxter wiggled his eyebrows, his demeanor entirely contrasting the dire situation.

Snufkin stepped back, glaring. “Dreams don’t come true.” 

“Well,” Joxter looked around himself, chuckling and plucking a charred leaf out of the air as it floated down. “You’d better hope.”

Snufkin shook his head, confused. Joxter spoke in riddles. “What are you talking about?” 

Joxter shrugged. “What have you been doing all this time, boy? You don’t seem to be quite alright.”

The boy straightened up, taken aback. “I’m doing fine, ” he hissed, before falling into another fit of coughing.

Joxter slowly began to walk towards him. “I’m not too sure about that.” Snufkin backed up as Joxter got closer. “I think you’ve been stuck in a sorry state for quite some time.”

“I—“ Snufkin stammered, indignant. “I can still change if I want to.”

Joxter took a final step, and stopped where he stood. His smile looked a bit sad. “That’s an empty threat, Snufkin.”

Snufkin’s expression filled with a bit of horror, and he dropped his gaze from Joxter’s face, instead focusing again on the burning forest around them. He threw his arms out, gesturing to the flames. “Aren’t you going to help?! ” he screamed.

The flames seemed to engulf Joxter, so that he was only a silhouette, and Snufkin couldn’t decipher his face. “Only you can do that.”

“What?” It came out a raspy gasp, and Snufkin hunched over with another forceful fit of coughing, clutching at his ribs.

Joxter’s voice echoed through the night, booming, “No one else can help you, Snufkin!” Snufkin sank to the floor, still coughing, unable to find the air to breathe as the flames seemed to close in. “No one else can help you.”

~~۞~~

Snufkin shot up, gasping for breath, shocking himself with how easily the air came to him. Shaking, he laid a hand flat against the canvas of his tent, and covered his mouth with his other hand, reviewing the vivid dream in his mind. What was that?

He opened the flap of his tent, seeing that the sky was turning lighter, and that the sun would be rising over the mountains soon. He wasn’t sure whether the confirmation that he’d slept the whole night through was for better or for worse. He breathed in deeply, letting the smoke-free morning air fill his lungs. The image of dream-Joxter came to mind, but Snufkin shook his head, dispelling the memory of him. He’s not coming back, Snufkin assured himself. He’s never coming back.

Snufkin shuddered as the chill of dawn penetrated his bony frame, and remembered his current lack of layers. The thought of the balled up bandages that lay beside his backpack rose to the front of his mind, and he winced. The worst thing about taking them off had to be having to put them on again. He ducked back into his tent. It was going to be another long day, if his dream was any sign of that.

Chapter Text

Moomin found Snufkin sitting on the bridge and fishing, with his coat and bucket next to him. Snufkin was fishing aggressively. Moomin hadn’t known you could fish aggressively, and even if he had known, he wouldn’t have thought Snufkin the type to do it, but it seemed today was a day of new things.

Moomin was in a good mood today, for Mamma had sat him down with a plate piled high with waffles and bacon, and told him to eat well and spend the day outside, because she wanted to read with Papa, and maybe visit with some of the ladies in town during lunchtime, and asked that Moomin go out and have a fun day in the valley. Iyt sounded like it would be a great day, to Moomin, and so he’d eaten as quickly as possible and scrambled outside into the sun to find Snufkin, scanning the hill for the little green-clad blob. He jumped up and bolted down the hill once he spotted said blob sitting on the bridge, with his coat folded neatly beside him. But he’d slowed to a stop at a bit of a distance, for Snufkin seemed to have a dark cloud hanging over him today. His hat sat low on his head, and he stabbed the bait with his hook with more force than necessary. He whipped the line out into the river, so that it splashed noisily when it hit the water, and Moomin jumped a little. He wondered if something might be wrong.

Moomin stepped delicately onto the bridge, and carefully sat down next to Snufkin. “Hello, Moomintroll,” Snufkin said mildly, sensing his presence.

He sounds cheery enough, Moomin thought, and opened his mouth to say hello back, when Snufkin seemed to feel a tug on his line, and immediately tugged back. Aggressively. The little mumrik gripped the reel with white knuckles and spun it with force, tilting the pole up and down until the fish came up out of the water, thrashing in the air. Moomin winced as some of the water splashed onto him from the fish’s tail. Snufkin seemed to notice this, and swayed the pole a bit to the right, so that the fish wasn’t so close to Moomin. He waited a moment, while the fish lost some of its strength, and reached out to tug the line a bit closer to him. The fish wiggled impatiently as Snufkin moved onto his knees, focusing on the fish with narrowed eyes.

Once the fish was over the wood of the bridge, Snufkin seemed to measure it up, tilting his head. He suddenly gripped the fish firmly underneath its head, not letting it squirm free, and slowly laid the rod down on the bridge. Snufkin then carefully removed the hook from the mouth of the fish, before pinning it down with one hand to the wood of the bridge, grunting softly with the effort of holding it still. He reached behind him and grabbed the lip of the bucket, and, holding it up above his head, brought it down suddenly and harshly on the head of the fish. Moomin jumped. The fish stopped moving, besides a little twitching.

Snufkin smiled a little, and, still holding down the fish, reached into a pocket of his jacket, pulling out a knife, the blade still covered. He pulled the leather sheath off with his teeth, holding it in his mouth as he carefully went to work, slicing off the gills of the fish. Moomined cringed at the sight and instead focused on Snufkin. Snufkin's off-white shirt hung off his thin frame, revealing a bit of his shoulder and collarbone, as he leaned over the fish and worked. His teeth were straight, and sharp, and his jaw was tense as he gripped the leather strip in his front teeth. Moomin’s gaze wandered down his jawline, to the muscles in his neck, to Snufkin’s shoulders, which shook firmly as Snufkin methodically cut the gills of the fish. Snufkin stopped, sitting back on his knees and pulling his hands back from the fish. He took the leather sheath from his mouth and slid the knife back in, making a face at the blood on his hands. Moomin glanced down at the fish, seeing that its blood now soaked into the wood of the bridge, and winced again, looking away. Snufkin scooped up the fish with bony hands, and slid it into the bucket, which Moomin now saw was filled with ice. Snufkin then dipped his hands into the rushing water below them, watching the fish blood as it was swept off his hands, dissolving into the river. He moved back to his place next to Moomin, drying his hands on the outside of his jacket before slipping his arms into it and buttoning it up. Moomin felt almost… disappointed? As he watched Snufkin get swallowed up by the coat. Snufkin stood, leaning his fishing pole back over his shoulder and grasping the bucket in his right hand, and gently nudged Moomin with his foot, half a smile on his face. Moomin looked up, processing what was happening, and then scrambled to his feet. Snufkin chuckled softly, and tilted his head towards the woods, indicating that Moomin should follow him.

“Are we going to your camp, Snufkin?” Moomin realized it was the first time he’d spoken thus far into their meeting. He was surprised. Usually he had much more to say.

“Yes,” Snufkin confirmed. “I’ll make you lunch, if you like.”

Moomin grinned. “Sounds perfect.”

~~۞~~

Moomin had stayed quiet as Snufkin went through the motions of making a fire and preparing the fish. Snufkin poured some oil out of a vial onto a pan, and rubbed some herbs onto the pink flesh of the fish, before tossing it on the pan and placing the pan in the fire. Moomin stared at the pan, recognizing it.

“…Isn’t that from our kitchen?” 

Snufkin laughed. “I was waiting for you to notice,” he said, meeting Moomin’s eyes over the fire. “Little My brought it out to me. She said I ought to be ‘cooking my food before I eat it’, and wouldn’t accept that holding it over a fire with a stick counts.”

Moomin laughed. “I wonder why she is the way she is.”

Snufkin grinned and shook his head. “I think it's all the marmalade.”

Snufkin’s smile stayed as he shifted his focus back to the fish. Moomin’s heart swelled, glad to see him happy. “Are you feeling better, Snufkin?”

Snufkin made eye contact with him, frowning slightly and tensing a bit. “I’m sorry, I- well, what do you mean?”

Moomin sat up straighter, remembering that he hadn’t said anything before. “Ah! Sorry, Snufkin, I didn’t mean anything by that…! It’s just,” Moomin swallowed, thinking for a moment. “You seemed a little tense earlier.” Snufkin stared at him blankly. Moomin swallowed. “…On the bridge?”

Realization dawned on Snufkin's face, and he chuckled sheepishly. “Ah. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was noticeable.” Snufkin carefully flipped over the fish in its pan. “I had a bad dream last night. I guess it was still on my mind.”

“Can I ask what it was about?”

Snufkin sat up a little. “Oh, it’s nothing major. I’m not super worried or anything, I’ll have forgotten it by dinnertime.” He shot Moomin a quick smile, and placed the pan carefully on the ground beside the fire, before twisting behind himself to dig around in his bag.

Moomin tilted his head. He wasn’t convinced. “Are you worried it might come true?”

“Dreams don’t come true, Moomin--” Snufkin said lightly, and turned back around, holding a tin plate and some utensils and scraps of cloth in his hands. “And even if they did, I’m not worried about this one. It’s impossible.” Snufkin said the words with finality, and Moomin could tell that was it for that, at least to Snufkin. Snufkin poked the logs apart with a stick so that the fire would go cold soon, before hefting up the pan with the fried fish. He tilted it so that the fish slid off of the pan onto the metal plate. He pulled out his knife and began cutting up the fish, and slid a small amount of the fish into a piece of cloth. He handed the rest of the plate to Moomin, along with a fork. “Here you go, love.”

Moomin took the plate, saying his thanks meekly, and went bright red, stiffly eating and avoiding Snufkin’s eyes. Snufkin didn’t seem to notice, keeping his eyes low and picking bits of fish out of the cloth with his fingers. They ate in silence for a bit, but after a moment Snufkin seemed to resign to staring at his food for a good minute. Suddenly, he put it down on the seat next to him, drawing Moomin’s attention. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to speak. “Moomin, do you think--”

But he was cut off by a shout from Moominpappa, from up the hill. “Boys!” He bellowed. “Come look!” Snufkin had started at the sound, and was already on his feet. Moomin cast his plate aside and Snufkin helped him to his feet, and the two began rushing up the hill. “Did he sound particularly urgent to you, Snufkin?” Moomin said, his voice shaking as he breathed hard. “Do you think it’s bad news?” Snufkin only quickened his pace, grabbing onto Moomin’s arm and pulling him along, until they rose over the top of the hill. 

Snufkin abruptly stopped, and Moomin was launched forward a couple steps, bending over to catch his breathe. When he looked up again, he was relieved to see that his fears were for naught, for it seemed to be good news.

In front of the house, his mother and father were grinning and chatting happily, for in between them stood the Joxter.

Chapter Text

Joxter stood a little taller than Moomin, but not quite as tall as Papa. When the two boys stumbled over the top of the hill, the three adults turned with grins and waves at the sight of them. 

Joxter threw back his head to let out a hearty laugh. “Moomin! Is that really you?”

Moomin grinned, straightening up. “Hello, Joxter!”

“Look at you!” Joxter reached over to give Moomin's arms a playful squeeze. “Look how you’ve grown! Last I saw you, you weren't much taller than my hat, you know!” Moomin smiled and shook his head. While he hadn't seen Joxter in a long time, he remembered how his tales were often taller than any tree in the forest. 

“Snufkin, my boy!” Joxter said it with all the same cheer, but his grin seemed to waiver, so that his eyes did not quite match his voice, and Snufkin stood stiff, and did not respond, and Moomin sensed that something wasn’t quite right between them. Snufkin seemed to be absorbed by a dark cloud- his paws were clenched into fists, and his hat was low, barely showing his eyes, which were narrowed piercingly at Joxter. His face was smooth, however, and his voice unfeeling, as he finally nodded in greeting, after a notable silence had passed. 

“Joxter.”

With that, he turned around curtly, and began to stalk back down the hill.

Moomin looked back and forth between Snufkin’s descending figure and the three adults, who stood flabbergasted. Papa laughed suddenly, breaking the silence, and gave Joxter a swift kick.

“That’s your son alright!”

Mamma put her hands on her hips with a shake of her head. “You know, I’ve never seen him be anything but polite before? I didn’t think he had it in him.”

Papa nudged her with an elbow. “Please, it’s in his blood, look at his family tree-” 

“Oh, you hush now!” Mamma waved a paw at him to shut him up

Joxter chuckled, and murmured that it was quite alright, with a shake of his head. But his smile did not reach his eyes, and instead appeared as a sort of odd grimace, and his hand twitched before reaching into his coat, which Moomin recognized to be in the exact same manner that Snufkin would reach for his pipe. 

Mamma scoffed as Joxter pulled out the pipe, waving her hands in front of her and turning away. “Now you better get away from me if you're going to smoke that nasty thing!” A laugh betrayed her stern tone as the Joxter shot her a look of mock woundedness. “Please!” she cried. “I can’t stand the smell, you know this! Go take a walk- catch up with your Mumrik!” 

Joxter ducked under the brim of his hat with a slight chuckle, obliging to Mamma's concerns and sliding his pipe back into his coat. Moomin squinted at Joxter, as if trying to see through him to find what was wrong between him and Snufkin. He didn't know what he had done to make Snufkin leave them so suddenly, but he knew Snufkin wouldn't have been so curt if there wasn’t anything there, but alas, nothing in Joxters demeanor revealed any secret conflict of the devastating sort, at least not in Moomin’s eyes.

Joxter caught his eye, and his nose wrinkled a little at Moomins squinting. “Do you need glasses, boy?”

Moomin quickly looked away, shaking his head, suddenly embarrassed. He turned to Mamma and tapped her gently.

“Would it be okay for me to run down and check on Snufkin while you all catch up?” He asked.

Mamma sighed. “Yes dear, go on ahead.”

Moomin smiled, ducking away with a quips of thank-yous and I’ll-be-back-in-a-moment-I-promises, and began his way down the hill.

~~۞~~

Snufkin’s paws balled up into fists as he made his way down the hill with quick, heavy stomps. He stormed his way towards the forest and unbuttoned his coat as he reached his campsite. He carefully slipped his arms out of his coat before violently pitching it through the flap of his tent. Breathing heavily, his eyes scanned his campsite with red hot rage. 

But in a moment’s passing he was keenly aware of the tension in his brow, and the nails digging into his paws, and the dull ache that throbbed from the soles of his feet all the way up to the tension behind his shoulder blades, and his fury faded to exhaustion. With a groan he was collapsing down onto the floor with defeat, pulling his hat off of his head and dropping it unceremoniously next to him, and rested his head in his hands, breathing deeply and trying to slow the rhythm of his heart, but he winced at the pain that spiked across his chest and back with the expanse of his breath. He counted four beats of his heart on the inhale, then three on the exhale, and just two as his paws loosened their grip on his head, until finally his heart had exhausted itself, and it no longer pounded in his ears.

His paws pushed against the log on either side of him, and he dropped his head with a slight huff. This valley cannot be mine anymore. He felt the heat rise to his face again. He shook his head suddenly and rose to his feet with a furrowed brow.

“Not that it was ever mine to begin with,” he murmured to no one in particular. What was he to do now? His eyes drifted across the forest, over the trees, up the mountains, and into the clouds. He sighed once more, and dropped to his knees, to begin packing up his camp. He donned his coat again, and pulled out his few items that were in his tent. He then untied his tent from his stakes, and laid out the canvas, setting his thin blankets and sleeping mat atop it, and folded the cloth thrice before rolling it up tightly, careful to keep the edges even. He pulled his pack to his side, unclipped it and checked that all his few belongings were accounted for, sorting through his tin cups and counting his various little tools, scanning his campsite for any missing pieces-

“Snufkin?”

He sprang to his feet with a hiss at the small voice that broke through his focus. His eyes, however, widened, as he realized it was only Moomin, who was looking quite shocked himself. 

“Did you just… hiss at me?” Moomin asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Snufkin relaxed, placing a hand over his heart and breathing out with a chuckle, before dropping back to his knees to continue his tasks.

“Hello Moomin.”

Moomin knelt next to him. “I came to check on you, Snufkin.” The words were said with some authoritarian confidence, but as Snufkin eyed him at his side, Moomins stiff demeanor betrayed his attempt. Snufkin smiled to himself.

“Well,” He rose to his feet and beat the grass off of his knees, before raising his arms to his side. “At your service.” He gave a little bow in an imitation of some of the very proper government-official types that he had seen in many a city (and he particularly disdained), and Moomin’s stiff, assertive front melted away with a giggle. 

Moomins gaze shifted across the campsite. He turned suddenly to Snufkin as he was clipping his canvas atop his pack. “Are you going somewhere?”

Snufkin paused, before turning away to pick up his hat. “Yes Moomin.” He circled the brim in his paws. “I’m leaving.”

Moomin stood abruptly. “Snufkin, you can’t- you can’t go.” His voice shook. “It's not even summer, and I’ve barely even-” he stopped, searching for the words, and Snufkin turned around to face him, meeting his eyes. “I’ve just missed you, Snufkin.” It came out a whisper, and he ducked his head as a lump of shame rose to the back of his throat. He had far too much to say and no way to say it. Snufkin had always been better with words.

Snufkin sighed, and dropped back to the ground, and Moomin wordlessly took his seat next to him as he plucked up blades of grass. The wind shook through the trees, and distantly a lone dove cried a lonesome call. Snufkin tapped his foot to the rustling of the leaves, gentle and even thuds forming a beat, and he swayed slightly from side to side, humming with the lonely dove, coaxing its company once again. As the dove answered, cooing high, then low, he selected a long, flat blade of grass, placed it between his lips, and suddenly, from it rang a sharp, whistling tone that pierced deep into the forest.

Moomin jumped. “What-”

A gust of wind whirled between them, snatching the blade of grass from Snufkin and lifted his hat to ruffle through his hair, as if to scold him. Snufkin laughed, snatching his hat out of the air and brushing his paws through his hair to push it back into place. 

Moomins eyes locked onto Snufkin's paws as they ran through his hair, and dropped to hang on his shoulders as the wind chilled him slightly. His gaze drifted across his collarbone, up to his smile as it was slowly slipping away, and then back to his jaw, just above the collar of his coat. He swallowed, then sighed quietly, and looked away. Hearing his sigh, Snufkin gave a questioning hum.

“How do you do that?” Moomin asked.

Snufkin turned to him. “Do what?”

“You know. Command the wind, or nature, or whatever.”

Snufkin smiled. “You give me far too much credit.”

Moomin glared at him, to which Snufkin laughed.

“What? I dont command anything Moomin, I’m no-” he fiddled his paws, searching for the words. “ Captain, or anything of the sort.”

“Then why does the wind come at your call? Why do the birds learn your tune?” Moomin gestured wildly towards the sky.

Snufkin shook his head. “It's not like that, Moomin, I just…” He trailed off, hesitating. “We are the same,” he asserted. “I, and the birds, and the wind. We are the same.”

He rested his paws in his lap, and leaned against Moomins shoulder. Moomin rested his head atop Snufkins, and let the sounds of the forest fill the air.

“Must you really go?” He breathed, shutting his eyes. Snufkin nestled in closer to Moomin.

“You could, you know… come with me?”

Moomin opened his eyes. Snufkin stared straight into the forest, a grim look on his face, as though he already knew the answer.

Moomin sighed. “Can't you just stay?” He pleaded. Snufkin shifted away from Moomin with a heavy sigh, and Moomin found himself missing the contact.

“You don't want me to stay, Moomin.”

“What do you mean? Of course I do.” Moomin retorted.

Snufkin hesitated, turning to face him. “Moomin, I-”

But he stopped himself suddenly, as he caught sight of something approaching on the hill, and his eyes narrowed. He huffed and slowly got to his feet, grabbing his pack and kicking dirt over the remains of his little campfire, reaching for his hat.

Moomins brow furrowed. He turned to see what Snufkin saw, and spotted Joxter’s lanky form making its way down the hill. “Snufkin, what’s going on? Why are you-” He reached for Snufkin's arm as he was making to place his hat on his head. Snufkin met his eyes, his gaze softening. “You know you can tell me anything, Snufkin. Is it… is it something with Joxter?” 

Snufkin tensed up, his gaze dropping. He glanced back towards the hill, and Moomin could hear the footsteps behind him.

“Boys!” Joxter called jovially, signaling his intrusion.

Snufkin huffed and pulled away from Moomin, mounting his hat atop his head. Joxter joined them with an oblivious grin, and wrapped his arm around Moomins shoulders with a squeeze. Snufkin's eyes locked onto the Joxter’s hand on Moomins shoulder, and suddenly he looked as though he might explode.

“I haven't seen either of you in many moons, you know- I hope you didn't think I’d let you two sneak off without catching up first!” He aimed a cheerful wink down at Moomin, who grimaced in response.

“That's a shame,” mumbled Snufkin coldly. He ducked beneath his hat. “I’m afraid I was just leaving. You two have a nice chat though.” He turned on his heel as if to start away. 

Moomins jaw dropped. “Snufkin, wait!” 

Joxter chuckled nervously, stepping towards Snufkin. “Come on now, what's the hurry?”

Snufkin whipped back around with a glare that silenced the Joxter. “You want to know why I can't stay?” He said, his eyes sliding to Moomin. “Look what I’ve brought with me.”

Joxter scoffed, trailing after him. Moomins eyes clouded with confusion as Snufkin turned away once more, and he ran to catch up with Snufkin, running beside him. “Snufkin, I don’t understand, just, please-” He grabbed at Snufkin's arm as they reached the edge of the forest, pulling him to a stop. “Please just wait, just talk to me.” 

Snufkin avoided his eyes, searching the forest floor as if there he might find some answer to his inner turmoil, before letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “Come with me.” Snufkin looked up at him, his eyes pleading. His paws slipped to Moomins wrists. “I swear I’ll tell you everything. I’ll show you everything, even-” his eyes welled up with tears, but he seemed not to notice- “I can give you the forest and the mountains and the sea, and a million stars and a million people you've never met and you’ll never see again, and I-” His breath hitched. “I won't be such a bother to you all anymore, don't you see? Because we’ll be together, in it together, and I will take care of everything, and- and I could be everything you need.” His grip on Moomins wrists had tightened without him realizing, and Moomin stared back at him with wide eyes.

“I… I-”

“Come now boy, you know you can’t ask all that of him,” Joxter called out from where he leaned against a tree, some ten feet ahead of them.

The voice seemed to break through the air and shattered Snufkin’s focus, and his eyes filled with rage. “Don't you say a word to me!” He shouted, turning towards him angrily, and throwing his arm out as if to guard Moomin.

Joxter put his open hands up, as if in surrender. “It’s his home, Snufkin! His life!”

“ Just keep away from me!” Snufkin cried, and he lunged toward Joxter, heaving a fallen branch off the forest floor and throwing it at him.

Joxter dodged the branch deftly. “You can only be a part of his life, you can’t be all of it! Trust me, I know! ” 

“I’m not you, Joxter! You don't know anything about me!”

“I’m the only one who could know you, boy! You're the same as me, don't you know?” Joxter dodged another branch flung his way.

“Which is exactly why I’m leaving! You can have the valley, you already take everything anyway! But you just can’t- you can't have-” His eyes flickered to Moomin, and he huffed, before shaking his head violently. He let out a scream of frustration and launched a barrage of attacks against Joxter.

Moomin remained frozen where he stood, wide-eyed, watching the two. It was almost comedic, watching Snufkin swinging at the Joxter with reckless abandon, and Joxter frantically dodging. In some other world he could almost imagine laughing at the scene.

He considered Snufkin's words, and cursed Joxter’s interruption, because in truth, he’d dreamed of joining Snufkin on one of his travels all winter. Not that it was an immediate yes, but he would have at least liked to talk about it a little more. Snufkin’s words echoed in his ears. I could be everything you need.

Moomin felt the heat rise to his ears and he shook his head of those thoughts. Surely he hadn't meant it with any particular meaning.

And what was this about him being a bother? He was no burden. Moomin waited every year for Snufkin to arrive. He loved every moment spent with him. 

His eyes rose to the still ongoing fight in front of him. The two were bickering between the trees, and Snufkin's voice was going hoarse. He looked up, now spying dark clouds above them that dimmed the sun, and threatened to spill over. Moomin thought maybe he ought to say something, to suggest heading back, perhaps. He walked towards them tentatively, and raised a paw. “Um-”

“This doesnt involve you!” Joxter and Snufkin snapped in unison. Joxter laughed, realizing. Snufkin bristled.

“I’m so sick of you, you know!”

Joxter shook his head. “Snufkin, look-”

“ No! I don't want your advice! I don't need it, I never needed it before!” He swallowed. His throat hurt. “Just get out of my head already!”

“Snufkin, I’m trying to help you!”

“Then stay away from me for gods sake!” Snufkin cried. “You have no idea who I am, or what- what happened, to me-” He gripped his coat tightly, and suddenly a heavy drop of rain splashed across his right paw, and he now realized the dark clouds that had blown in as they fought.

Joxter seemed to notice the same thing. “Rain,” he mused, and he cursed.

Snufkin clenched his jaw. “Go back to the valley. Back to your camp ,” he spat, and ducked his head beneath his cap. “Just stay away from me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way deeper into the forest.

“Snufkin!” Moomin cried after him, but it was to no avail.

Joxter heaved a mighty sigh. “Well,” he turned to Moomin. “I’m sorry you saw all that.” He said it with a laugh, but his face didn’t match the tone. “Let’s get you home, boy, I’ll even lend you my coat.” He extended a hand towards Moomin, and Moomin stared at it.

He met Joxters eyes, and took a step back.

Joxter seemed to understand what Moomin was thinking. “Boy, you don't want to do that.”

Moomins huffed. “Why does everyone seem to think they know what I want?” 

Joxter stepped towards him. “You don't know the woods, Moomin,” he warned.

Moomins eyes narrowed. He looked up at the menacing dark clouds. The light sprinkling had turned into a drizzle now, and the clouds were only getting darker. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves.

“Moomin, don’t-'' Joxter began, but he didn’t wait to hear the end of it, and bolted into the woods. Joxter’s voice rang after him as he ran, shouting his name, until all Moomin could hear was his pounding footsteps, the drizzle of rain, and the distant rumble of thunder that approached over the mountains.

Chapter Text

This was… not good.

The drizzle had turned into a full on downpour, and Moomin had no idea where he was. Somewhere along the way hed picked up a great fallen branch and he was holding it over his head, although it did little to help. His fur was completely soaked, and his feet were caked in mud that stained his fur up to his knees. The clouds had completely covered the sky so that the darkness covered the woods like a blanket, and Moonin couldn't find any sign of his lost Mumrik as he was swallowed up deeper and deeper into the woods.

This was not good, indeed.

He scolded himself. How many times had he needed to learn this lesson by now- that he couldn't just do these things without a plan? The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach grew heavier as his energy began to drain, and he turned around to gasp for air and search for some hidden path, some way out of the woods- but he only saw the darkness that shrouded the trees in a murky, lightless maze, and with horror he came to realize that he no longer knew which direction he'd come from or which he had been running towards, and with the choke of fear tightening around his throat, it became horribly apparent that Snufkin was likely the only one who could possibly save him now.

Snufkin, who was nowhere to be found, and had no idea that Moomin was even still in the woods.

What were you thinking? He wasn't like Snufkin, who could navigate in any conditions. Snufkin could feel a gust of wind and know exactly the path he needed to take, but Moomin couldn't feel anything other than wet, and miserably cold, and terribly scared. He spun around again, jolting at a flash of lightning, desperately trying to remember what the moment of light had illuminated, but it had only been for but a moment, and as the echo of thunder cracked overhead, the darkness closed in. His breath hitched with fear. He crouched to the ground and hid his face in his hands.

Oh Snufkin, where are you?

He felt a gust of freezing wind permeating through the fur on the back of his neck, and he shuddered, teeth chattering. How was he ever going to get out of this?

His eyes snapped open. The wind. Snufkin said he was the same as the wind, that the wind was his guide. Moomin rose on shaky legs, and closed his eyes, resisting the tremors that wracked his body in the cold, and turned until the wind was on his back, so that it may push him forward.

I really hope this works.

~~۞~~

Snufkin brushed through the hanging leaves of a weeping willow that masked the entrance to his little cave, just as the drizzle of rain was beginning to become a pour. He let the curtain of vines fall behind him, dulling the pitter patter of rain into a gentle white noise, and dropped his pack against the stone wall. Taking off his hat, he shook the water off of it, and let it sit atop his pack. He went to search the back of the cave for the humble pile of firewood he had left for himself on his way into the valley some scarce weeks prior.

He’d found this cave many autumns ago, and since then he'd returned many times, using it to store spare wood, firestones, and every now and then a canned tin of food, in case he was ever in need of spare supplies, or privacy, or a spot to sit and rest, or perhaps if he was ever caught in subpar weather- like he was now.

Heaving up a good amount of firewood, he approached his little stone lined pit, and dropped the logs with a clatter. He then picked up his trusted firestones and struck them together once, twice, and again, and finally the spark took on the fourth strike. He shifted around the logs to get the fire burning, and then took a seat on the cold stone floor to watch the fire grow, and wait out the storm.

He sighed, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He supposed hed lost everything now. Moomin would want nothing to do with him anymore, he was sure. Why had he said all that? And the whole argument with Joxter, right in front of him. Snufkin groaned and dropped his head into his arms, pulling his knees in close. What would he even say to Moomin, if he ever were to return to the valley?

I’m sorry.

Thats an empty sentence.

My head wasnt in the right place.

This was true, but Moomin could take that to mean anything.

I didnt mean any of it, I didnt know what I was doing.

Snufkin winced. That was a lie.

I just wasnt thinking.

That one was true.

Perhaps hed just write a letter. Once he reached the nearest town, and could get enough money to stay in some inn somewhere and use a bit of stationary. Hopefully that would give Moomin enough time so that he wouldn't be so upset anymore, or at least had made up his mind on if he ever wanted to see Snufkin again. Snufkin watched the shadows dance across the stone walls where he had once scratched, in primitive little doodles, little hieroglyphics of himself and his Moomintroll, when he was a little smaller, and still carried a little pocketknife, instead of the Joxter’s, which Moominpappa had given him once he was big enough to hold it. He gazed dully into the flames.

Perhaps Joxter had been right. Snufkin could never become everything for Moomin. And Snufkin would never be able to forgive himself if he became sedentary, even for Moomin, like some permanent burden on the valley. No, that would never be the life for him. And Moomin wasn't for the same life as him, as much as it hurt to admit, and worst of all, he would never be able to return these… feelings. Perhaps it was better that he never see Moomin again.

A flash of lightning illuminated the cave, streaming in for just a half a second through the cover of the weeping willow’s leaves, jolting Snufkin from his thoughts. The heavy crack of thunder that followed echoed off the walls around him, and he shut his eyes against the sound as it rattled through his skull. He shuddered and pulled his coat close around him as the icy breeze came spiraling through the hanging leaves at the entrance to the cave. He shut his coat against it, but it swirled up around his paws and down the sleeves of his coat, dancing away when Snufkin tried to bat it away from him, blowing whistles in his ears and laughing as he shuddered away from it. Snufkin glared, squirming to avoid its next attack, but now the wind turned its focus to his fire, and he jumped to shield it as the wind blasted towards it, nearly tearing it apart. Snufkin coughed, inhaling smoke from the irritated little campfire, and banged his paw against the stone ground, shouting, “Stop!” 

It seemed to listen to him, and for a moment, Snufkin relaxed, letting loose a deep sigh. The wind never showed such a mean spirit before, not even during its little games. What could possibly be bringing this on?

It was short lived, however, for in an instant, the breeze returned with vengeance. It had become a great gust, flinging his hat from his bag until it rolled to a stop at Snufkin's feet, and whisking the flames up into a pillar of roaring, sparking fire, so tall that the tips of the licks of heat scorched the top of the cave in angry stains of powdery smoke. A flurry of leaves spun around the walls of the cave, cutting through the air like flat little darts. Snufkin jumped to his feet, raising his arms to guard his ducked head as he backed away from the writhing wind, towards the entrance of the cave. He gritted his teeth. This is highly unusual.

Suddenly, though, his ears caught the stumble of approaching footsteps, accompanied by the labored breathing of some weary traveler. Snufkin furrowed his brow. Was it some lost hiker who was caught in the storm? He slid his paw into his left pocket, to rest on his knife- just in case- as he slid his gaze to the entrance to the cave, still fighting the force of the wind as he approached it. Just as he reached the curtain of leaves, a familiar paw pushed the curtain to the side, revealing an exhausted Moomin, and with his entrance, the wind went still, and the leaves floated gently to the ground.

“Snufkin,” Moomin gasped.

“Oh,” was all Snufkin could say, and he leaped forward to pull his soaked friend into the shelter, swiftly slipping his coat off and swinging it over Moomins shoulders. “What did you do? Why were you out there?” He asked frantically, but he left no room for an answer. He half-carried Moomin towards the fire, where he helped him to take a seat. “Hang on,” he murmured gently, as he adjusted his coat as it sat on the Moomintrolls shoulders.

“Thank you, Snufkin,” Moomin sighed. His voice shook with the tremors of his body. “I’m so glad I found you.”

Snufkin avoided his eyes, fiddling with his paws.

“What were you doing out there?” He asked finally.

“I was trying to find you-”

“Why on earth were you trying to find me?”  

Moomin tensed at the sharpness in Snufkins tone. “I was- I was worried about you, after what happened-”

“I know what I’m doing, Moomin.” Snufkin interjected, his paws balling into fists.

Moomin frowned. “I know that, but you were upset, and-”

“I’m fine-”

“You certainly weren’t fine when you ran off like that-”

“You can’t just follow me into the forest, Moomin!” Snufkin shouted.

Moomin glared. “You asked me to come with you, didnt you?”

“That doesn't-'' Snufkin cut off, shutting his eyes with a deep breath, controlling his tone. “You could have been hurt, these woods are…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “Anything could have happened, Moomin, and if- if you had been-'' His breath shortened. He shut his eyes again and buried his head in his hands, giving up.

Moomin opened his mouth to respond, but Snufkin raised a paw limply and waved it in dismissal, getting to his feet.

Moomin watched him as he stepped to his pack and unclipped his roll of canvas and cloth. “What are you doing?” he asked weakly.

Snufkin paused. “Just getting you something to sit on, love.” He unrolled the fabric, and folded up the thin linen sheets, setting them aside, and then, selecting his sleeping mat, brought it over to Moomin’s side, where he set it down, folding it in half, so that it was a thick little square of cushion. He patted it gently and ushered for Moomin to sit. “The stone floor will suck the heat right out of you.”

There was something to the way Snufkin spoke, with his eyes lowered and his voice steady, that almost sounded unlike him, and Moomin found himself wanting to ask Snufkin if he was alright, and apologize for the spat they'd just had, but he was overcome by a violent tremor that shook the thoughts away from him, and so he simply did as Snufkin instructed, pulling the mumrik’s coat tighter around himself and squeezing his eyes shut, as if it might squeeze the cold out of his bones.

“Are you hungry?” Snufkin asked, and, not waiting for an answer, he moved away. “Let me see if I have something.” Snufkin stepped to the back of the cave, where his stash of supplies sat in the shadows, and he rifled through them, searching for the cans he recalled placing there sometime last fall. He spotted the glimmer of the tin lips of the cans, and extended his paw to grasp one, inspecting it closely. He shut his eyes and sighed in relief that he still had it, and it remained undented, unharmed.

He grasped it in his right paw and used a sharpened claw of his left to pierce the lid, getting a grip under it and peeling it up as he walked back to his bag. He rifled through his pack, pulling out a little saucepan, and he poured the contents of the can into it, before moving back to the fire, and pushing the logs around to make some room, and nestled the saucepan atop the flames  to begin heating. 

Moomin eyed the pot. “What is it?”

Snufkin softened, finally meeting Moomins eyes, and he recounted a tale of one of his journeys, explaining that it was some canned stew he’d been given by a kindly woman who lived in a mountain town someways southeast on one of his travels- one who he tried to visit each year, for she had taught him much, and provided for him well, expecting nothing in return, although he always offered.

Moomin smiled. “Maybe I can meet her sometime.”

Snufkin smiled too, but it looked a little sad. “Maybe.”

The two fell silent. Snufkin stared into the fire, and remembered the day he entered the cave and hid the two cans she had gifted to him, with wishes of ease on his journey. He’d carried them for a while, eyeing them each night, yet going hungry every time, and promising himself he would save it for an emergency, eventually hiding it in the cave. He had known at the time that he was lying to himself, and by proxy, her, but the presence of the cans in his bag added much more weight to his shoulders than just the 28 ounces they together promised, and he had chastised himself for the swirling fear he felt around the thought of using them, before finally banishing them to his little storage spot, and hoping to banish them from his mind as well. He scowled into the flames. How ridiculous it was, that he'd been gifted something for his use, and yet he was somehow paralyzed from using it. He would have rather it rot here than dare to waste it on himself, despite the fact that eating it was the intended purpose.

“Snufkin?” Moomin asked, and Snufkin snapped out of his thoughts, and realized that the stew was boiling quite well. He grunted as he rose to his feet again, circling around the fire to where he'd set the can of stew, and poured the contents of the pot back into the can, setting it aside to cool to a comfortable temperature, and heading to the entrance of the cave, pan still in hand.

“Where are you going?” Moomin called, a tinge of panic in his voice.

Snufkin turned over his shoulder with a strained smile. “I’m just going to give the pan a quick rinse in the rain.” He paused, sensing Moomins apprehension. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, and then ducked through the cave entrance, leaving Moomin alone.

Outside of the cave, Snufkin walked to the edge of the path, just where it began to tilt into a steep incline, and dropped into a squat, slowly tilting the pan around so that the water would wash across every inch. The rain was still quite heavy, but it wasnt coming down in sheets anymore, so he simply guarded his face with his arm to keep the water out of his eyes. He hadn't thought to don his hat before stepping out, but he didn't want to enter back into the cave and admit having forgotten something to Moomin, so he supposed he would just have to get a little wet. He heard a pitiful sneeze come from within the cave, and he winced. I hope he hasn't got himself sick because of me.

As he watched the thin coating of oil and broth residue on the pan lift away with the water, he wondered at why Moomin had come after him. He’d said it was out of worry, and then he’d brought up that Snufkin had asked him to join him earlier, and Snufkin wondered if that could mean that Moomin really did want to come? Snufkin huffed a little indignantly and turned the pan over. He thought back to how he’d scolded Moomin in the cave, and he wished he'd held his tongue. He groaned aloud and let his head fall back so that the rain landed on his face. If only he could not have had a tongue today. Between the fight with Joxter- and everything he’d said to Moomin- he’d gladly not have a tongue at all anymore.

What's done is done. It rang in his head, with the Joxter’s particular inflection. Snufkin frowned. Even the voice in his head sounded like Joxter.

He sighed, and decided that both his saucepan and his self were thoroughly soaked, and so he stood and gave the pan a good shake as he turned back to the cave, shaking the excess water off of him, too, as he entered.

His eyes drifted over the now empty mat where he had left Moomin, to the wall he had once made his little inscriptions in happier times, which the Moomintroll was now studying. Snufkin let out a breathless laugh as he walked towards the fire.

“It’s not my best work.” He knelt to hold the pan back over the flame, listening to the water sizzle as it steamed off of the pan.

Moomin stayed where he was, one paw tracing the outlines gently. “I think theyre very nice, Snufkin.” His voice was soft. “How long ago was this?”

Snufkin moved to put the pan back in his pack now that it was thoroughly dry. “When were you last smaller than me?” he replied with a smile.

Moomin shot him a glare over his shoulder. Snufkin laughed aloud, and stepped over to join him.

“Oh Snufkin, youre soaked… couldnt you have taken your hat?”

Snufkin cleared his throat. “Ah. Maybe.”

Moomin rolled his eyes. His paw drifted over to one of the scrawled scenes. “Is this you and I, and the comet?”

Snufkin winced. “Oh, don’t look too closely at that one.”

“Why not?” Moomin turned towards him with wide eyes.

Snufkin smiled weakly. “I did that one so long ago. Couldn't possibly have done it justice.” He shuddersd suddenly, and Moomins head snapped towards him. Snufkin straightened up. 

“Let's go back to the fire,” Moomin advised.

Snufkin gestured for Moomin to lead, and Moomin sat back on the mat, while Snufkin sank back to his spot across the fire from Moomin, hugging his knees to his chest. Moomin stared at him.

“Snufkin, why dont you come sit next to me?”

“Oh.” Snufkin met his eyes. “Okay.”

He moved to take a seat beside Moomin on the mat, and Moomin raised the edge of his coat so that Snufkin might share with him, to which he gladly obliged. He sighed into Moomin’s side, relieved at the warmth, and let his eyes shut as he relaxed, hearing the gentle thud of Moomin's heart in tandem with his own, and the patter of rain outside.

“I’m still… a little upset with you, you know,” Moomin said softly.

“Mmm,” Snufkin murmured. “I’m a little upset with me too.”

His eyes drifted open, and he stared glassy-eyed into the flames. 

“Moomin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I’m more Mumrik than Mymble?” He looked up at Moomin, resting his head back on his shoulder. “Or Mymble than Mumrik?”

Moomin hummed in thought. “Only sometimes.”

Snufkin echoed his little hum, and he supposed he was pleased with this answer. He let his eyes shut once more, and the warmth of each other, and the crackling of the fire, mixed with the pitter-patter beat of rain drumming on the stone path outside, lulled the two boys to rest, and lead them to their dreams.

Chapter Text

Snufkin drifted into awareness, flexing a paw against the plush fur of his friend. He inhaled deeply, sensing the familiar herbal, earthy scent of his Moomintroll, and opened his eyes drowsily, nestling a little deeper into where he was curled up atop Moomin. With a yawn and a stretch, he carefully rolled himself away from Moomin, but when he looked back over at his friend, he saw Moomin’s eyes were wide open. Snufkin's eyes narrowed.

“Have you been awake for a very long time?”

Moomin blinked. “Maybe,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“You great oaf.” Snufkin punched him lightly, eliciting a little squeal from Moomin, and rolled away from him. “You should have pushed me off of you. I’d not have minded.”

Moomin smiled, sitting up. “You were sleeping so peacefully though…”

Snufkin scoffed. “You great oaf,” he repeated. He stepped to the entrance of the cave, pushing aside the weeping willows tearful curtain, revealing a golden, sunny dawn that accompanied the morning chill.

“Ah! No more storm!” Moomin exclaimed from behind him, and Snufkin shot him a grin. He took a deep breath in, energized by the smell of the clean air, and then out, surveying the stone trail, still glistening with wet, that turned to soft, moist silt leading back into the rustling forest, and all the way to the valley.

He turned back into the cave, letting the curtain of leaves drop behind him, with a spray of dew that sparkled in the light as the beads of water were flung to the floor. Snufkin knelt in front of his pack, checking what was dry and what still needed a bit of time, and began making sure everything was still together.

“Are we leaving already?” Moomin asked with a yawn.

“Yes Moomin. Let’s get you home.”

Moomin straightened up. “Home?” He repeated. “So you will be staying in the Valley, then?”

Snufkin paused. “I didn't say that, exactly…”

Moomin huffed. “Then let me come with you!”

Snufkin looked up at him to find Moomin was glaring at him. He sighed. “You're not giving up on this, are you?”

Moomin crossed his arms, and with it Snufkin nearly expected him to stomp his foot, for a moment a vision of childlike petulence, that rang a bell within Snufkin of a time long past.

Snufkin sat back down against the wall. “We’ll need to let your mother know where you’re going.”

“I’ll send a letter!”

Snufkin huffed. “It’s three days' time to the next town with a post office,” he objected. He looked up at Moomin again. “And you’ve never done this before.”

“But I’ll have you.”

Snufkin looked away again. He didn't wish to reply to that.

“Please, Snufkin,” Moomin began, softer now. “I came this far, haven't I?”

“Your family will be worried.”

“They’ll have no reason to be.”

“They’ll be terribly upset with me, you know.”

“I’ll explain that it was my fault! That I refused to go home!” Moomin shook his head. “Snufkin, don’t you want me to come?”

Snufkin didn’t look at him. “I’m just worried.”

“Why did you ask me to come with you in the first place then if you didn’t mean it?” The words came out with a venom that he hadn’t intended, and Moomin instantly wished he could take them back. 

Snufkin’s eyes narrowed. “Moomin, that’s not-” He stopped, taking a breath. “This sort of decision is better done with proper planning. Preparation, and the like.”

“You never plan anything!” Moomin retorted. “You said yourself, you go wherever you like and it always works out fine for you.”

“Well, this…” he held on to the word, weighing it, as if heavy in his paws. “This is my life, Moomin,” Snufkin smiled dully. “And such has always been the way of my life.”

Moomin stared at him. “I’d like to join you, in the way of your life, Snufkin.”

He said it with an intensity that Snufkin hadn’t quite expected, and his eyes flickered up to the Moomintroll’s, and, feeling the heat rise to his ears, he quickly averted his eyes once more. Moomin stood, dusting himself off, and shuffled over to take a seat next to Snufkin. Snufkin sighed, shutting his eyes as Moomin’s fur brushed against his arm.

“Oh, Moomin…” his voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t think you will like the way I live when I am away from you.”

Moomin furrowed his brow. “But you won’t be away from me this time,” he began. “And I like everything about you, either way.”

Snufkin smiled, leaning against Moomin. He hummed a little tune, echoing the distant calls of birds that twittered somewhere outside. Moomin was suddenly very careful to breathe steadily, and very aware of how he sat, but either Snufkin didn't notice his stiffness, or he didn't give it mind. 

Finally, with a sigh, Snufkin stretched his arms above his head, and stood with a grunt. “Come along now Moomin, we’re burning daylight.”

Moomin smiled wide and scrambled to his feet. Snufkin shook his head at Moomin’s excitement, but he was smiling as well, and he turned to hoist his pack onto his shoulders with a deep breath. He placed his hat onto his head, and stepped to the entrance of the cave, nodding at Moomin to come with him. And so the pair stepped out onto the sun-stained path, squinting from the light and shivering in the chill of the morning air. Dew washed Moomin’s feet as the two made their way up the mountain, following the winding trail, speaking in soft conversation about nothing in particular all the way.

~~۞~~

That first day of their journey, they didn't get very far, at least not by comparison to Snufkin’s typical pacing. Moomin struggled to keep up with Snufkin, and needed to rest often, and although Snufkin smiled and waved away his apologies, he felt within himself a tension rolling up like a rubber ball tumbling against his sternum, and he tried to hide how it hardened like rock in his core when sundown came. But as he urged Moomin along a couple steps, the sky glowed like a molten ocean of liquid fire as the flaming sun sank away to his chambers, and Snufkin knew perhaps they'd need to set up camp along the trail, for there was no chance that by nightfall they would reach his normal spot where the riverbank wraps around the mountain to cross the beaten trail, where under the great bridge Snufkin would lay his camp. Such was his tradition, anyway. But as his friend lumbered on behind him, Snufkin shook away his fears. Things were different now. Moomin was here, and Snufkin wasnt alone this time, and while it was Moomin’s first time traveling out of the valley (and thus would excuse how his inexperience weighed down his feet like boots of lead), it was Snufkin’s first time bringing someone along. They had left early into the season, and the web of time was spun by a sleeping spider, and so they could be lax with their pace, for now at least. And Snufkin reassured himself as much, telling himself that some deviation from the beaten path could only be expected. Things were different now.

I am different now. 

Snufkin breathed in the crisp and clarifying fall air as an icy breeze whistled past him, rustling the collar of his coat with playful urgency- a gentle reminder, warning itself to be the first of many of the chills of the night to come. He looked over his shoulder where the sinking sun’s golden sweat melted across the horizon. Moomin, too, turned to look, and he gasped at the beauty of the sight. “Oh!” He gasped. “It’s golden!”

Snufkin hummed. “Let’s set up camp here.” Moomin turned to face him with a tilt of his head. Snufkin ducked to hide his smile beneath the brim of his hat, and shrugged his pack off of his shoulders.  “As we make camp I’ll tell you a tale I once heard,” Snufkin mused. “If you’d like?”

Moomin’s eager grin was all the answer he needed.

And so Snufkin launched into a tale he heard from an old sailor in a distant port who had traveled far. As he had stood watching the sunset, the old man took up a place next to him, and pointed a wrinkled hand to the horizon. 

“ Do you see how it glimmers like a golden thread, boy?” 

And with little  provocation, he began to speak of three Fates- one of past, of present, and of future- that spun strings of golden thread every night from the horizon line just as it was illuminated by the setting sun. They’d spin a new strand for each birth, stretching it longer and longer for as much time as the Fates felt inclined to give, and when eventually the time came, when the Fates’ generosity had run dry, they’d cut the string, and with it, would come the end of a life.

Snufkin had spat, and laughed, and looked to the horizon. “ Must I lend my thanks to the Fates? For the time I have been given, the life I have lived?”

The old man looked out into the ocean as the dusk began to fall heavy over the port. “Lend them your thanks every time you think of them. Presence of mind is a gift they give to precious few.”

And with that, he’d walked away.

As he ended his story, Snufkin took off his hat, resting it on his pack as he knelt beside his sleeping mat. Moomin hummed in thought.

“What do you think the old sailor meant?”

Snufkin sighed. “I suppose…” He grunted as he sat back, reaching to untie his bootlaces. “I suppose he meant that if these ‘Fates’ come to mind,” He kicked off his left boot, then wrestled with his right. “You probably ought to reach out.”

Moomin giggled a little. “Like old friends.”

“How is that, Moomin?”

“Father’s letter writing philosophy is so- that if it’s been long enough since you’ve heard from a friend to wonder about them, that means it's time to write them a letter.”

Snufkin smiled. “I suppose your father does have many friends.”

Moomin scooted forward on the mat, patting the place beside him. Snufkin gently settled in, elbowing Moomin lightly to make more room.

“Snufkin, what shall you say to the fates?”

Snufkin raised an eyebrow.

Moomin huffed. “You said so yourself. They came to mind, so you ought to reach out, yes?”

“I suppose…”

“So we shall, then?”

Snufkin held his breath for a moment, before releasing, and relenting. “Be it so.”

He tilted his head for a moment. What shall I say to these Fates, that spin time into gold?

“I thank the Fate of the present,” he began softly, looking up past his brow at Moomin. “For this present company.” Moomin grinned.

“I thank the Fate of the Past, for being there to look back upon,” Snufkin continued, reaching for the little lantern that illuminated their tent from its corner. He lifted it gently, and held it close, twisting the key and dimming the flame.

“And I suppose…” He breathed a deep breath, studying the flame. He tilted his head, and went on softly.

“I suppose I do thank the Future, in that it is unknown to me, and in such ignorance shows a little mercy,” He slowly pushed the key a little further, watching the flame curl up into a little blue ball. “Such is the healing salve to the wounds of undeserved time.”

He let the lantern go out, and placed it gently onto the ground beside the mat, before laying down next to Moomin, and nestling  into his soft fur.

“Goodnight, Moomintroll.”

The wind rustled through the trees.

And after a moment, 

“Goodnight, Snufkin.”

Chapter Text

It was four days of similar travel later when they happened upon their first stop: the town of Clarence, with a wooden sign stationed atop cobblestone pillars arching over the road, adorned by thin swirling vines that bloomed little yellow blossoms here and there. Faded and cracking blue paint spelled out neatly “Clarence Welcomes You” stretching over the walking path. Moomin’s feet ached and every muscle in his body was sore- Snufkin hadn’t warned him that the way was uphill when he’d agreed to make the whole journey today, but he was far too proud to admit he may have overestimated himself, and now he felt too weak to hold his head up, although he still tread on. When Snufkin turned to give him a smile as they passed under the sign, Moomin looked up, first meeting Snufkin’s eyes, and then looking beyond him, at the surrounding city square. In spite of the exhaustion weighing him down, he was transfixed by the picturesque village and the bustling marketplace ahead. He felt somewhat uplifted; this place seemed so joyous, and he began to feel energized again- until he nearly tripped on a loose cobblestone in the path.

“Steady now,” Snufkin soothed, catching his arm to help Moomin regain his balance.

Moomin flushed and straightened up, not wanting to address his unfortunate spill. “There's so many people!” He pointed out with a pleading smile.

Snufkin smiled too, but ducked so his eyes hid under the brim of his hat in that familiar way, and let his paw drop from Moomin’s arm to grab his hand and pull him along. “Stay close.”

Snufkin pulled him swiftly down Main Street, through a bustling marketplace, weaving through crowds of people as Moomin huffed and puffed with the effort of keeping up.

As they wove through the crowd, Snufkin seemed to find some interest in a man up ahead, and he leaned a bit too far, bumping into him with force, drawing an indignant shout from the man, followed by a mutter from Snufkin.

“Apologies.”

His grip stayed tight on Moomin’s arm, rushing him along and down an alley, before they ducked into a little shop called “Pawp’s Pawn Stop,” prompting a little jingle from the bell above the door. Moomin, finally released, took the opportunity to take a few much needed breaths. Snufkin looked at him with an apologetic smile, until a shout was heard from the back of the shop.

“I’ll be right out!”

“Take your time, it’s just me,” Snufkin called back, only to be answered by the sound of falling boxes and several curses. After a few seconds, a young man- assumedly Pawp?- stumbled out of the back room, catching himself on the counter.

“Green bean,” he beamed. 

Snufkin turned around to leave. 

“Aw, come on-” he rushed out from behind the counter to intercept Snufkin's path to the door. “You’re in the green outfit! Ain't you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

Snufkin rolled his eyes. “Dayrin, Moomin,” he began. Moomin was somewhat disappointed that his name wasn't actually Pawp, but he tried not to show it. “Moomin, no need to remember this fool.”

Dayrin gasped in mock offense, before grabbing Moomin by the shoulders. “My goodness, the famous Moomin! I have heard-”

“Dayrin-” Snufkin attempted to interrupt, which only made Dayrin speak louder.

“I have heard so much about you-”

“My god, you're just trying to make him uncomfortable!”

“What? It’s true!”

“Um,” Moomin attempted to interrupt the bickering. “Don’t worry, I’m not- uncomfortable,” he assured.

Dayrin took the opportunity to move by Moomin’s side, crossing his arms triumphantly. “See? He ain’t uncomfortable for nothing. You're the uncomfortable one.”

Snufkin threw up his hands. “You're right! I ought to find a more comfortable shop, so out of my way!”

Dayrin raised his hands in surrender. “Come on, I won’t keep ragging on you. Show me what you got.”

 Snufkin pushed down a smile. “Alright.”

The three returned to the counter; where Snufkin revealed from his pocket a fine golden pocket watch, on a thick gold chain. Moomin stared at it, shocked that Snufkin had such a thing, and trying to remember if he’d ever seen it.

Dayrin whistled. “Where’d you find this one?”

Snufkin looked up at him from under his hat. “Got it from my aunt.”

Dayrin chuckled and picked up the pocket watch to examine it. “Same one that gave you all that jewelry?”

“No,” Snufkin snorted. “That one's my mother's side.” 

“I didn't know you had any aunts,” Moomin asked.

Snufkin shrugged, but didn’t meet his eyes. Dayrin looked from Moomin, to Snufkin, to Moomin again, as he rustled around underneath the counter for a magnifying glass, before holding it up to the watch and directing his attention to his tools. “He stole it, little brother.”

“Oh,” Moomin said, and Snufkin looked away.

Dayrin hummed. “How’s one-fifty?”

“Oh, just give it back if you're just going to play jokes-”

Dayrin laughed and whipped his hands up in surrender, also keeping the watch conveniently out of reach. “Kidding. You know I won't cheat you kid. I’m thinking…” he paused, deliberating, pursing his lips, and humming to the tune of some sort of internal battle.

Finally, he sighed. “Well, it’s solid gold, well weighted, and the chain is durable, but there’s much friction- wear and tear between the links- the inscriptions of the numbers are so clear, though, so intricately painted… I believe the craftsmanship would be from across the Mediterranean, even- see how intricately the hands have been sculpted?”

Snufkin looked at him blankly.

Dayrin sighed. “Original price was probably around twelve-hundred. I’ll give you nine-hundred because it’s dated for two years ago and it’s got some wear and tear and scuffs on the glass.”

“One-thousand,” Snufkin rebuffed.

Dayrin scoffed. “Nine-hundred is generous-”

“One-thousand,” Snufkin replied, “Either from you or someone else.”

Dayrin sighed. He looked at the watch in his hands. “Think I could get two-thou out of this once I fix it up?”

Snufkin grinned. “Mark it for twenty-three-hundred and put it on display soon as spring-thaw’s kicked in.”

“Deal.”

Moomin stood by to watch the exchange. He barely understood what they were saying; he knew about bartering from the books Moominpappa had on the shelf, but all that had just seemed like shouting numbers at each other until someone gave up.

“Is your sister back yet?” Snufkin asked of Dayrin.

Dayrin heaved a sigh. “No, she’s a long ways away. Room’s yours.”

“You have a sister?” Moomin asked. 

Dayrin seemed surprised by Moomin's question, as though he’d forgotten he was there. “Ah, yes. Sunny’s her name. She normally lives upstairs on the rare occasion she returns to-” He sniffled mockingly, as if he was about to start bawling. “To grace her poor, lonely brother with her presence-”

Snufkin rolled his eyes. “You aren’t lonely, you’re just bored-”

“Where has she gone?” Moomin interjected.

“Yonder.” Snufkin and Dayrin said it at the same time, then shared a chuckle.

“She travels like I do,” Snufkin explained. “The world is our home.”

Dayrin grumbled. “Nice way to say homeless-”

“Maybe I will just go to a hotel this time.”

“And leave me here, lonesome and miserable?”

Moomin rocked back and forth from the heels of his feet to his toes. Snufkin glanced at him, and turned back to Dayrin.

“Do you want us to stay or not?”

“I already said the room’s yours!”

“Good, then.” Snufkin grabbed Moomin’s hand and pulled him behind the counter towards the back room. “We’ll make ourselves at home, slide the thousand under the door when you get the chance.” 

“I might just keep it as rent, you know!” Dayrin shouted after him.

Snufkin scoffed as he reached for a cable that hung from a tile in the ceiling. “He won’t.” With a tug, the cable unfolded the tile into a small ladder. “All bark, no bite. And I always earn my keep.” He hopped onto the ladder and glanced back at Moomin. “Come along now, careful climbing up.”

So Moomin was very careful, and didn’t lose his footing once, and when he reached the top, Snufkin pulled him up with a firm grip, and he was greeted by the attic room. Light spilled across the room through a big round window high on the wall. The wallpaper was a warm white with cream accents, but flowers and vines had been painted across it in a simple fashion. A dresser- painted similarly- stood to the side, where the corpse of what might have been a houseplant sat atop next to a small mirror leaned against the wall. Moomin turned around, and saw a bed with a thin mattress and a simple iron frame, adorned with a white comforter and three thick pillows. 

Snufkin pulled up the ladder with a soft grunt and shut the hatch. He sighed, and heaved the weight of his backpack off of his shoulders. He stepped gently to the bed, taking his hat off and laying it on the dresser as he passed by, and collapsed dramatically onto the bed. Moomin giggled and came to join him.

As he climbed onto the mattress, Snufkin turned to look at him. “We walked a very long way today.”

“Mhm.” Moomin laid down beside him.

“Are you well?”

“Yes,” Moomin huffed. “I could use a nap though.”

Snufkin smiles. “That sounds like a good idea.”

The sun was slowly sinking below sight of their little window, so that the illuminating, warm gold that had welcomed them softened and dimmed. Snufkin hummed a little tune, and Moomin settled in, sinking into a real bed and a real pillow for the first time in ages (although he’d never complain to Snufkin), and the exhaustion in his limbs welcomed the invitation to rest. He leaned his head against Snufkin’s, and shut his eyes, feeling himself falling, and falling, and falling.