Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    The Big Mymble let out the most delighted laugh when she opened her front door to find a dead bird and a filthy bastard husband with dark blood running down his chin. 

   Joxter had less than a second to prepare for the tight hug: the woman pulled him at least a meter off the ground and gripped him as hard as she could (without killing him). She then snatched a kiss from him, indifferent to the flavor of bird blood, as he hungrily kissed her back, clawing at her fluffy coat.

   "Oh, Joxter, my beloved, I've missed you so much," she groaned, squeezing him again before releasing him.

   "My, you're so gorgeous, you leave me breathless every time I see you," the mumrik teased as he panted for oxygen, licking his own curled lips. "This time, I got us a heavy bottle."

   Every year, Joxter set out in springtime for his trip North and returned in the Fall. To maintain his mumrik persona, he'd say he travels because he belongs to the unknown, to the falling red leaves and the icy cold snow, but deep down, his greatest reason for traveling was his aversion to hot weather and sweaty fur. After eight months abroad, it had become customary for him to bring a bottle of wine from his trip and share it with his wife, spending the entire night with her in their room, doing something special to commemorate his homecoming. That's why he always made a point of not arriving before the kids went to bed.

   The couple moved through the house silently yet eagerly. An emphasis on 'silently' – the children's room was on the first floor and the last thing they wanted to do was to wake up 30 or more pests at the same time. Speaking of which, Joxter went over to the small room and peered inside. He grinned as he noticed all the tiny mymbles sleeping blissfully, the majority of them in places where a child ought not sleep (they couldn't afford beds, after all).

   "This is a brand-new litter... Who was the lucky creature? A sexy Mumbler or Bobbler? Or perhaps another Tass?" It wasn’t unusual for him to come home to a bunch of children he wasn’t familiar with. He  chuckled. "How come your children are always mymbles, regardless of the father's species?  I'd love to get a mumrik kit..."

   "But, beloved, you did. He was such a little sweetheart!"

   “What?! You had a mumrik kit and didn't tell me about it?!"

   "Oh, you'd just left for your trip, and he arrived on the first day of Spring."

   "Then- Where is the boy?"

   "Long gone."

   "He... died?"

   "Goodness, no! I put him in a basket and released him in the flow as soon as he was born."

   "YOU WHAT?"

   "You see, he was much bigger than the rest of his litter." She pretended to hold a normal-sized infant. "Since he couldn't play with his baby siblings because he was about 5 apples bigger than them, I decided it would be safer to entrust him to you, dear."

   You stated that you always go alongside the river so that you can fish for all of your meals. I hoped you'd see the basket, but it appears you didn't."

   "Has it ever occurred to you, Mymble, that maybe I'm not always staring at the river?  That I nap every hour?"

   "...My bad." The mymble sniggered. "But don't be upset, my love; I've heard from one of my daughters that he's been safe and sound in Moominvalley.  I don’t even know how she was able to recognize him, it’s been roughly ten years."

   "TEN YEARS?!"

   "I told you not to be upset!"

   "I'm sorry, darling, I just can't help myself." Joxter growled in irritation and yanked at his own hair while staring at the floor. "Ten years," he thought, "there's a ten-year-old kit out there who never learned how to be a mumrik."

   Kids and kits were two very, very different things. Although they are both born independent, they are two different kinds of 'independent.' Mymbles aren't typically devoted to family because, similarly to rabbits and other small mammals, they are born with the survival instinct to 'go and search for food if your mother just died.' It only makes sense because every litter spawns at least 30 mymble babies, and a mother may lose a youngster as easily as one could lose a needle in a haystack. Meanwhile, mumrik kits must spend at least the first ten years of their lives with their parents. Every mumrik knows that the first few yearly vacations a kit takes are the most crucial since their parents educate them how to be... free. What it takes to be ruthless, to be patient, to be a mumrik .

   And Joxter had lost his opportunity to be a father. To be a mumrik father of a mumrik kit. But he knew his beloved wife wouldn’t comprehend such a thing as parent bonding though, so he couldn’t get himself to be mad at her. 

   “I need to go to Moominvalley.”

   The mymble looked puzzled. He couldn't just leave, he had just arrived! They hadn't even touched their wine yet, and it was nearly midnight; How could a lost kit be that vital? There was no turning back for the boy, and there was no point in fretting. However, then, she remembered something about Joxter: he could be a snarky little rascal, dreadfully ignorant, and an absolute nuisance at times, but he did care, he did worry.

   Mymble had lost track of the amount of times her husband had put his life in danger or squandered his time trying to defend one of her children. During the fiercest downpours and loudest storms, he'd tuck them under his arms and tell them one of his stories as they trembled in fear. Accidents happen on a daily basis when you have more children than hairs on your head, but he was always there to offer support. The mumrik kit wasn't the first Mymble had lost around, but Joxter was a master of detecting tracks through the forest, and he wouldn't rest until he found the missing child. Some days, he'd just curl up with as many of them as he could and groom them until they fell asleep, even if he had to do it secretly in case she had another man home.

   Of course, he cared for her as much as he did for the children, if not more, which was why he was her sole husband despite the fact that she had many partners. Because he treated her as if she were the most important thing in the world and didn't mind that she was one to share.

   So who was Mymble to prevent Joxter from caring and worrying about a lost kit if that was her favorite trait in him?

   "Go, beloved; We'll drink once you return." The mymble smiled as she bent down to remove the mumrik's hat, allowing her fingers to run through his dark, and disgustingly greasy (she preferred it that way) hair.

   "I love you more than the birds love the sky and the fish love the sea, My.  I'll get back to you in no time." He kissed her hand palm before reaching up to peck at her lips.

   And just like that, he put his hat back on, handed the wine bottle over to his wife and bolted on his four paws, determined to find Moominvalley.

   Yes, mymbles didn’t get too attached to others – he hoped the mumrik kit didn’t take that personally – but they sure did make others attached to them.

Chapter Text

   If there was anything every single creature knew about Joxter, was that when there was something bothering him, then it was bothering him full force. Joxter was normally calm because he was too lazy to care, but oh, when he did care, his mind shut down for anything that wasn't what he was fretting about – food, water and sleep were completely disregarded. People called those the 'mumrik trances'.

   When he had his pupils dilated and unfocused, his whole body tense for no apparent reason and all of his paws on the ground as if waiting for an specific sound or scent to sprint towards to, just like a forest beast, then you knew it: he wouldn't snap out of it until he met his own body limits. 

   And according to Joxter's aching, empty stomach and tired eyes, he’d had a way-too-long mumrik trance the previous night, and a very bad one. 

   So when he got his consciousness back to find himself in the most soft mattress ever, he hadn’t even bothered to move. After an hour or two of extra sleep, he woke up again when he heard a loud growl.

   That was his stomach.

   Oh goodness, it hurt.

   It hurt so bad. 

   “Fuck,” he mouthed, massaging his belly although he knew that wouldn’t ease the pain. 

   He finally dared to open his eyes, but he wasn’t able to achieve much, probably because of spending the whole night awake with his night vision on. Through his blurry vision though, he managed to have a look around and found he was not alone in the strange room. There was a white round creature with red stripes, like a peppermint candy, and it was holding something that smelled great – his stomach grumbled again to the delicious scent.

   “Here you go, dear. I thought of making some oatmeal, but I heard you’d rather have raw fish,” the peppermint creature handed him what looked like a tray with something gray, pink-splashed, on it. “Do you think you can manage some?” 

   “Hell yeah.” Joxter sat up. Greeted by a throbbing headache, the mumrik hissed in pain and held his head on his paws. He heard the peppermint creature gasp and immediately shook his head, “Don’t worry, it’s just natural after a tough night, nothing that hasn’t happened before, my friend.”

   Joxter’s headache faded away when he practically attacked the three raw fishes with his claws and sharp teeth, hunger easily taking over him after his first bite. The big sweet stranger chuckled and refilled his plate with what she'd labeled as meat leftovers. He chugged down a few bowls of that marvelous dish before eventually noticing his vision was back to normal. Which meant he could continue his journey.

   "Thank you very much for helping me, but I must go now to find Moominvalley," Joxter jumped off the bed. "It seems I have not only forgotten to eat and sleep, but to ask for directions too."

   The peppermint creature, who had just put some empty dishes away, turned to face him. She was awfully familiar, her eyes and snout, and her paws and her ears–

   "Goodness, is that you, Moominmamma?!" Joxter gasped. "I could hardly tell without your makeup!"

   "It's wonderful to see you again, Joxter! It is wonderful to see you can see me again, too," Moominmamma laughed, cheeks pink. "Moominpappa found you unconscious just in front of our house last night, he's coming up to see you in no time. Did you say you wanted to find Moominvalley?"

   "Oh yes, I can't wait to see how beautiful it's gotten since last time I've been here. But I'm actually looking for someone, you know. Have you seen a mymble kid? Loud and angry?"

   “Do you mean–”

   “LITTLE MY,” he heard a young voice from outside shout. “LET GO OFF MY EARS, I WANT TO HEAR WHAT THEY’RE SAYING!”

   “But I want to listen too!” Another young, but this time familiar, voice was heard.

   “Quiet you two or I won't be able to hear anything either!” This was not a child. 

   Joxter and Mama heard some struggling sounds and a yelp at some point, and then the door burst open with three creatures falling inside.

   “Oh- Uh- I’m- Hello there, Joxter!” Moominpappa got up, rushing to greet the mumrik. “I’m sorry for Moomin and Little My, they’re still learning manners.”

   The said little moomintroll was quick to apologize, although not without sending a dirty look to his father's smug face, while the mymble leapt into Joxter’s arms, giggling.

   “Hello to you two too,” the mumrik chuckled, hugging back the minuscule child he hadn’t seen in some years and then waving to the white fluffy-ball. “You probably don’t remember me, little one, but I was here when you were born.”

   “Really?! That was a long time ago!”

   “Not too long, it seems, you’ve only grown a few apples.”

   The three adults laughed and Joxter put Little My down,

   “Little My, I was looking for you. You told your Mama Mymble that you’ve seen your mumrik brother somewhere around the valley. Can you tell me where he’s been living?”

   “He’s just over there!” she pointed to the open door.

   There was, indeed, another child at the door. Not much taller than Moomin, with the largest green hat ever and a dress, similar to Little My’s. He had all of his skin covered, long dark pants and black gloves and boots, one wasn’t even able to see his face because of the long red scarf he was wearing. There was no sight of a mumrik tail either. 

   “Oh, you mean Snufkin? Come in, my dear, come meet Joxter!” Moominmamma said gently. “It seems he’s your father.”

   The child – Snufkin (Joxter would have chosen Little Jokes or Joxter Junior, but Snufkin was alright too) – stepped in, timidly, fidgeting with his fingers. He took some time to gaze at his father in awe, though it was impossible to see it in his face.

   “My name is Joxter, Snufkin, nice to meet you.”

   He blinked when he was met with absolute silence.

   “Snufkin doesn’t talk much,” Moomin explained. “He doesn’t talk at all actually. But he does play the harmonica Papa gave him.”

   “He doesn’t talk? That’s fine, I’ve had mute kids before,” he smiled, patting Snufkin’s hat before turning to the Moomins. “How did he end up here in Moominhouse?”

   “He’s only been living here for two years, after we found him walking around Moominvalley. Snufkin, you see, never talked about what happened before that year, but it seems to have been an awful experience. He was terrified all the time, and so weak he could barely keep himself on his feet,” Mama told Joxter, quietly, uncomfortably aware they were talking of her youngest adopted child as if he weren't there and a bit sad to recall said memories. “I’m not sure he would have survived if we hadn’t found and fed him.”

   Joxter’s eyes widened, shaken by the news. The kit had been found by someone else, somewhere the river took him to, and to think that it wasn’t a good place made Joxter’s stomach hurt again, but this time with a horrible feeling… Guilt. Who knows what horrid things could have been avoided if only he hadn't been left to survive alone?

   “That’s a good thing you found him then,” he muttered. “Does he go on yearly trips by himself?”

   “Yearly trips? Like the ones you do?” Moominpappa shook his head. “Snufkin barely leaves the house.”

   “He what?!”

   “We’ve been working on it, dear, but up until now, Snufkin is still very frightened of the outside for some reason,” Mama stated. 

   That was bad. Really, really bad, way worse than Joxter ever thought it could be. The kit couldn’t be called a mumrik if he was afraid of the outside, it wasn’t right, it was against mumrik’s nature to be limited by walls all the time. Thinking of such a thing only made Joxter feel worse – there was no easy way to make a mumrik afraid of freedom, it was inside the species’ veins and heart to leave and get to know the unknown. Which meant that, whatever that innocent kit had gone through, it must have been far worse than dreadful.

   “I think I’m going to stay over for some weeks, if it isn’t any trouble, I mean,” he eventually breathed in. “I might know how to help this little one out.”

   He, honestly, had no idea how to help, he had never had any other mumrik kit before. The only example he had to follow was his own, and he couldn’t remember much of his own childhood either. How in the world was he supposed to fix a broken mumrik? Joxter mentally scolded himself for calling Snufkin a broken mumrik, although he did think that way. He’d have to think of that later, of how to help put his son’s pieces back to place. After all, Joxter knew how to be a father, and – he hoped – that was the one thing Snufkin needed.

   “No trouble at all, Joxter dear! You can stay in this room if you’d like to.”

   “I’d rather take the mattress outside and make myself a tent, but thank you anyways, Moominmamma. Better go find a good place to set it on, actually.” He looked around for his hat, placing it on his head when he did. “Say, Snufkin boy, would you like to learn how to set a tent up?”

   Snufkin nodded quickly.

   “Come on with me then, I might need a paw,” he grinned, leaving the room and motioning for his kit to follow.

   To the Moomins' and Little My’s surprise, Snufkin did follow, seemingly excited. The two kids gasped, and were about to go after the two mumriks too if it wasn’t for Moominpappa’s cane getting in the doorway. The two looked up at Papa, pleading him to let them go help setting the visitor’s tent up too.

   “Snufkin is enough help for Joxter, kids,” he shook his head. “And Joxter is enough help for Snufkin, hopefully.”

Chapter Text

   “C’mon, kit, the grass doesn’t bite,” Joxter stood a few feet away from Moominhouse’s porch. “It’s actually really soft.”

   Snufkin was literally one step away from officially leaving Moominhouse, but his feet seemed to be hot glued to the porch-steps. His hat was turning side to side as if he was checking the area for something over and over again.

   "Could it be the birds you're afraid of? Birds are food, just like fishes and rabbits, there's nothing to be afraid of. In fact, they're way more scared of you than you are of them."

   But the little boy kept wordlessly fussing over something Joxter couldn't understand. He sighed and prayed Snufkin wasn't a lost cause for being scared at his own imagination. Little My could be wrong, Joxter thought, maybe this child wasn't his son after all and the poor girl had her hopes way too high.

   "I guess I underestimated the problem we have here," he huffed. "What am I going to do with you, Snufkin?"

   Perhaps it would be best to go back to Mymble's big and comforting chest, where he could forget all of his problems and worries and just relax in a safe place. However, Joxter couldn't call himself Joxter if he was to give up on one of his children. How many did he have? Ninety kids? Unless his wife had decided to secretly drown any other entire litters on the river too, Joxter had been there for every single child. Of course there were special kids like Snufkin, little mymbles who appeared to act against their own mymble nature – once or twice an introvert would come out. That is, if you could call an energy-lacking Groke-level sad kid an introvert. 

   Joxter couldn't quite tell if Snufkin was one of those sad kids. Although he could see the boy was a fidgety and anxious type (did he ever stop playing with his own gloves?), that damned hat and scarf made it impossible to confirm the theory. But even if he was a sad kid, he was still no exception, was he? Good dads are patient and Joxter was a good dad, Snufkin would agree one day, he just had to try and understand him a bit better.

   "It's alright. If you're scared of the birds, or the grass, even, then we can set the tent just over there," Joxter pointed to the white tea table on the porch. 

   Snufkin finally looked up, surprised at either the fact that Joxter wasn't insisting any more or that they were about to turn the Moomins' tea table into a sleeping place – probably both. He knew the Moomins wouldn't like it if he threw the table away to set up a tent in that space (Moominpappa would get mad, and even though that would be very fun to watch, he didn't want to get the little kit in trouble), so he had this idea: he covered the tea table and its chairs with the tent blanket, much like he had seen his kids do a million times.

   "See? It's almost a tent already!" he chuckled at the boy's visible amusement. ”Now we just have to tuck the edges under the chairs so that it won't fly away with the wind."

   The table tent was ready in minutes, and of course Joxter didn't forget the mattress Moominmamma let him take outside. It couldn't quite fit under the tea table without half of it popping out of the blanket roof, but then again, a mumrik tent isn't a mumrik tent if it wouldn't trigger your fellow Fillyjonks. They were about to decorate it with flowers and dirt to make it pretty when they both jumped at a loud shattering sound coming from the kitchen.

   The whole family rushed to see what happened, not able to step further into the room because the floor was covered in green mint leaves, blue and red berries, and lots and lots of small glass pieces.

   "It slipped off my hands," she explained. "Moomintroll dear, don't come in, you don't have shoes on."

   "Don't you move either, Mama, you're barefoot too," Moominpappa warned. "Goodness, I don't have shoes on myself!"

   "Snufkin and I have boots on, we could pick the berries and the mint!" Little My said before picking a raspberry from the floor. 

   "You're right, but be careful, shattered glass cuts fingers too," the dark haired man ambled inside the kitchen, effortlessly able to avoid stepping on the fresh ingredients, like a cat. Once by Moominmamma’s side, he scooped her up as easily as one could lift a big marshmallow off the ground and safely carried her out of the room. “Once we sweep all of those glass pieces out, we could wash the berries again and you can keep going just fine. What were you trying to bake with those?”

   “Well, lunch is ready already, but since I still had some time, I had decided to bake a pie,” she rubbed her fluffy cream white feet, which now had some small red spots. “Oh, how clumsy I have gotten.”

   “You’re hurt?!” Papa scanned her feet worriedly. “Goodness, that’s a deep cut you’ve got there. Sit down, honey, I’ll get you some bandages.”

   “Mamma cut her feet?” Moomin cried. “This is awful! I was pretty excited for the surprise pie…”

   Kids are always so selfish.

   “Moominmamma, do you think the kids and I could bake a pie by your instructions?” Joxter questioned suddenly. The others looked up at him, thrilled, while Moominmamma shrugged solemnly with a sweet smile,

   “I can’t think of a reason why not.”

   The children cheered and hurried to pick all the berries and mint leaves up to bake their first pie ever. Meanwhile, Joxter broomed the sharp shattered pieces away so that little Moomin could go help too, and he couldn’t help but notice one thing: he wasn’t fixing the broken jar, he wasn’t putting its pieces back in place. Mouth agape with the thought that clicked inside his head, he glanced over at Moominmamma, who was staring back with knowing eyes. ‘Her wisdom scares me,’ he silently examined the glass pieces by his feet. ‘That was no accident’. Mama had let the jar fall. It made a big mess, the berries were scattered all over and rebuilding the jar wasn’t an option. Yet, there they were, finding a better place for the berries: a nice pie, instead of trying to put them back inside that same old jar again. 

   Snufkin fell, at some point, like the jar. His shattered pieces could be anywhere by then, so glue and tape wouldn’t help much. Joxter didn’t have to fix or rebuild Snufkin – it would be a rough work to even try – he just had to find him a better place. Because the kit wasn’t gone, the berries weren’t smashed, he was just.. still there on the ground, trying to stand up.

   So maybe if the kit hadn't grown any mumrik instincts, he could still teach him some of the values. Snufkin wouldn’t play outside or inside because of his horrible fear of something , and no kitten should have to go through such a dreadful childhood. 

   Joxter smiled at Moominmamma.

   She pretended to have no idea what he meant by that. 

   He scoffed.

   Although the pie looked like something the Groke had spit – if he saw that pie laying there in the forest, he'd most likely scream and run than eat it – it was delicious, soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside. The kitchen wasn't as messy as the kids and Joxter were themselves at the end, all covered in flour with bits of raw dough and caramel between their fingers. Joxter would say it was absolutely worth it, because even Snufkin had done a lot of work (he did the filling almost all by himself since he didn't want to get his gloves dirty on flour and eggs) and everyone had fun.

   He had spent two entire hours trying to groom all of the sticky pie dough off his own fur while sitting on Moominpappa's desk ("This is disgusting!" Papa had said. "You had a million other places to 'shower' on but my workplace!"), and another two napping on Moominmamma's flower garden to enjoy the last hours of sunlight. The flowers were completely ruined at the time he finished his nap, but he had mental-noted to make up for that.

   The rest of the week had passed by smoothly and Joxter had time to learn a few things about his son and about the other kids in Moominvalley.

   First, Snufkin really did like to play his harmonica a lot. He would sit on the floor, be it outside on the porch or inside in the living room and play for whoever was there to listen. Sometimes his song was so soft and quiet one could barely notice it, some other times it was the slightest bit louder, but it was always a slow and lullaby-like rhythm. His friends loved to have him playing during the most peaceful times of the day, like in the hours after lunch, so that they could all have a nice nap – little Moomintroll seemed to enjoy it the most, dancing and humming along. Joxter wondered if that was his way of talking to the others, because then it meant Snufkin had an amazing voice (he smiled at the thought of hearing his son speak as beautifully as he was able to play the mouth organ). He wished the songs were happy songs, too.

   Another thing he learnt was that Snufkin had some kind of sign language for each of his friends' names. When he'd open and close his hands repetitively as if he was petting fluffy hair, it meant "Moomintroll" or "my hands hurt". When he mimicked holding something small between his fingers or having a taller hat over his head, it meant "Little My" and "Moominpappa" respectively. For "Moominmamma'' he wrapped his arms tight around himself (though sometimes it also meant "I am scared"). When he'd wipe at his hat, he meant "Snorkmaiden", a very cheerful and lovely snork child, and when he'd lift the sides of his hat as if they were long ears, he meant "Sniff". Sniff was the son of Muddler, whom Joxter missed immensely.. Kind boy the kid was, much like his father, even though he looked a lot more like his mother in appearance. 

   Yet Snufkin didn't seem to have any signal name for Joxter yet. When the kit wanted to say "Joxter", he'd make a mess out of gestures and moves, uncertain of what to call him father after. The man had a laughing fit every time Snufkin would do that, which didn't help the kit either.

   Things were going well. Slug-slow, but well. Joxter could take Snufkin off the ground like he did with the berries and find him a good pie. He could do it

Chapter Text

   "It's getting kinda cold," Joxter muttered to himself inside his table tent, now wishing the mattress did fit under the table so that he could zip the tent shut. "I wonder if I'll have to spend the winter here."

   It had been a good day, full of Snufkin's songs and children playing around, as it had been for the entire week.

   Moominvalley was, for sure, the most comfortable and peaceful place Joxter had ever set his tent on. Snufkin had already accepted him as his father, it seemed, and albeit quiet and shy, the kit looked happy to have Joxter there. But it was still hard to have things change, it was still hard to get Snufkin to be a child. It was pretty hard to have anything changing at all in such a calm and sweet valley.

   Nothing ever happened. Always a good day after a good day. What was Snufkin scared of if there was nothing out there? Absolute boredom? 'Yeah, same,' Joxter huffed. Back at the Big Mymble's house it was always loud and messy, but at least he got to have adventures now and then. Plus, he'd get to have adult fun once in a while. In Moominvalley, the best fun he could have was to occasionally steal some of Moominpappa’s paperwork.

   There weren't even criminals around the valley (aside from himself) because, in such a lovely place, who would ever think of being a bad guy? 

   "What a fun thing it would be to have a villain to hunt," he thought out loud.

   Then suddenly he heard something. Something from inside Moominhouse. He sat up cautiously, peeking out of his tent.

   Steps, those were definitely steps, wooden floor creaking under small weight. But there were no lights on and the Moomins were all asleep! Who could it be? Joxter creeped in from an open window with his claws out, ready to confront the sneaky stealer. Oh, finally some good old suspense and adrenaline. 

   The living room was dark and empty, silence echoing on the walls. Whoever had entered the house could be either upstairs or in the kitchen by then. The softest sound of a muffled sharp breath just from behind Joxter indicated the intruder was actually–

   “Holy-tomatoes-on-Moominmamma’s-garden, for Tove’s freaking sake, Snufkin, you almost gave me a heart attack!” he hissed.

   There was no bad guy, it was just Snufkin, he was so quiet and short Joxter had missed him completely even with his night vision on. The kit didn’t look so good though, with his head hanging low, looking at Joxter’s feet instead of at his eyes. 

   “What are you doing down here so late at night, kit?”

   The boy’s trembling shoulders raised fast and went back down again from second to second, and Joxter didn’t understand what was going on until he heard a sob. His son was crying.

   “Oh no, no, no, what happened?” he picked the crying kit up into his arms. “Can you show me what’s wrong?”

   Between some more sobs, Snufkin was able to tightly hug himself, signing for...

   “Moominmamma?” he tried. The boy shook his head. “Ah. You’re scared. A bad dream, was it? Hold on.” 

   The mumrik jumped out the open window he had come in from and walked back to his tent to curl up on the blankets with his son, not letting go of him once. When Snufkin found he was safely nestled in his protective father’s chest, half of the tension over him seemed to fade away and he did his best to hug the man back with his tiny arms. As he caringly rubbed the kit’s back, Joxter smiled at the nostalgic feeling brang by the typical act of hugging his children’s nightmares away. Feeling his shoulders get wet with those soundless tears, he just did what his instincts always told him to do in this kind of situation: purring to comfort the little kit. The boy stilled, almost jumping back, startled by the strange low vibration.

   “Woah, calm down, kit, it’s just a lullaby. It’s called purring. I know it doesn’t sound nearly as good as your harmonica songs do, but you can try it too if you want to,” he told him, chuckling at the adorable reaction.

   Looking up, amazed, the kit tried to copy the purring. Joxter really had to gulp a laugh down every time Snufkin tried with ‘grrr’s, ‘krrrw’s and ‘hrrrph’s. The fact that he had never purred before should have worried the man to death, but he was too busy teaching the boy how to do it.

   “No, not with your mouth,” he guided one of Snufkin’s hands down his scarf and to his neck so the boy could feel where the purring came from. “It happens in your vocal cords, inside your voice box. Maybe if you concentrate enough, you’ll be able to feel it.”

   But then he fell silent.

   Oh.

   Right.

   “Do you think you can’t purr because you can’t talk?”

   Snufkin lowered his head, lying back into his father’s embrace instead of answering. Joxter mentally slapped himself for not thinking before saying such a thing, especially after having successfully managed to cheer the boy up. He searched in his tent with his eyes for something that could help him give his son a lift. There wasn’t much in his tent, of course, he didn’t really enjoy sleeping with anything but his wife on his bed, but there were still a few things he’d hide under the covers – objects stolen for fun.

   When he found the white paper sheets he had earlier stolen from Moominpappa’s workplace, an idea tinkered in his head.

   “Well, that’s not true, kit, everyone can talk,” he smiled, parting from the hug so that he could fetch the paper and colored crayons (those actually weren’t stolen, he always kept three or four crayons and caramels in his pocket for emergency childrening). “There are just different ways of talking. In my trips North, I’ve met lots of strange creatures who don’t communicate the same way I do.

   I’ve once met a very kind Bobble whose only voice was roaring. I’ve seen nymphs, and they only speak through gracious glamour. Creatures who beep, creatures who whimper, creatures who blink – they all talk in a way. You’re no exception.”

   If he could see Snufkin’s eyes from behind that hat, he was sure they would be sparkling right then, and if he had a tail, it would be swinging in interest. Joxter chuckled at his imagined scene and sat up, placing the blank paper sheets in front of his child. 

   “Why don’t you try telling me what your nightmare was about?” he handed the crayons over to Snufkin. “We could make a row out of it and give it a happy ending, what do you think?”

   After a few lasting seconds of processing what Joxter meant, Snufkin took the blue crayon and drew a sloppy, big upside-down U with two circles above it. Eyes? He completed the face with what looked like a long snout. 

   “Is that one of the Moomins?”

   The kit shook his head and added a small square above the two eyes. Hair? No, it was some kind of hat. Joxter squinted at the drawing, wondering if that was someone he should know. He did find it familiar, but his mind couldn’t quite reach who the creature could be. Until Snufkin put a few V-shaped strokes between the character’s eyes and under their snout, making it look mad or.. evil.

   “..A ..park keeper?” he guessed.

   Snufkin made a clutch at the crayon before nodding. Joxter frowned,

   “What did the park keeper do?”

   The boy replaced his blue crayon with a green one and drew a triangle in front of the evil park keeper. Under the triangle, he added a prolongued line, making it look like…

   “Your hat. Is that you, kit?”

   Snufkin answered by adding a yellow scarf to the new character. Next to the park keeper, who took almost a half of the paper, the little green Snufkin looked so, so small . He hadn’t even bothered to give the sketch an expression like he did to the park keeper, not even a scared one, as if the character was clothes and clothes only, floating in the air. Sad thing was that Snufkin himself didn’t have an expression either, all hidden behind the scarf too, so he technically had drawn himself just accurately. 

   “Alright. The park keeper is very angry at our little green Snufkin,” he waited for a nod. “What happens next?”

   The kit quickly switched crayons, taking the blue one again to draw a box around his own smaller self. Joxter didn’t even need the parallel lines filling the box to know it was a cage. But Snufkin just wouldn’t stop drawing them, filling all the empty spaces between the bars with more bars until the green character was completely gone – and he didn’t stop there either. He filled the whole paper with blue lines, practically painting it all blue, but not daring to paint over the evil park keeper. 

   He was sobbing again, harder this time, when he released the crayon, staring at the drawing: a big blue mess. Meanwhile, Joxter was glaring at the park keeper who remained spotless in the dark background for making his son a blue mess himself. A lot was going on there, it wasn’t just an evil park keeper, it was his kit’s nightmare , it was in his kit’s head and it was the reason he was awake instead of sleeping peacefully and happy the way he should be.

   Joxter hated park keepers for ever since he first saw one. Because, how dare they take a part of the forest for themselves only and think of it as ‘alright’? The forest wasn’t property of anyone – it was quite the opposite – the forest is the one place all creatures belong to. But park keepers thought they could just put a fence around their enormous selfishness as if that was the right thing. That was why mumriks and park keepers were always in a constant war, generation after generation, mumriks hated park keepers and park keepers hated mumriks.

   So if the river took the Tove-damned floating basket with baby Snufkin inside of it directly to a park keeper, Joxter was about to go and start a war against the North river too.

   Because the park keepers didn’t seem to respect children either – they loved being able to rule and control a child to be, what, a square or something? No playing, no talking, no running, no touching, no “being a motherfreaking child”? Yes, the only possible answer was that they did want the kids to grow up to be squares, just like the signs they pester everyone with. The signs were the only ones allowed to speak to the orphans, the signs raised the orphans, pretty much the way Joxter believes it is like in hell . 

   Now, what would a park keeper do if they found a lost, innocent and defenseless mumrik kit out there? What the bloody-red-autumn would they do aside from taking their so hated ‘mumrik’ out of ‘mumrik kit’ before taking the ‘kit’ out of ‘kit’? Well, if you take the ‘mumrik kit’ out of the ‘mumrik kit’ then there will be nothing left . 

   It would be like breaking a kit’s jar. 

   It would be like erasing a kit's expression away.

   Joxter took a deep, heavy breath in to calm himself down and to ease the hatred out of his eyes so he could look at Snufkin and say,

   “I promised a happy ending, kit, didn’t I? Don’t cry.”

   He picked a clean sheet and a red crayon for himself and drew a very, very small circle in it. After adding two angry eyes to the circle, a few strokes of hair and a dress, Snufkin let out a soft gasp.

   ‘Little My?’ he signed. His father nodded, a smile back to his face.

   Joxter then drew a sketchy Sniff and switched to a yellow crayon to draw little Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden. He took the green crayon to draw a triangle-Snufkin scaping a blue cage.

   ‘Me?’ the kit signed, pointing to himself.

   “Yes, you. Your friends helped you out of that awful cage, you just woke up before it could happen!”

   Snufkin was absolutely taken aback, his sobs having reduced to recovering sniffles while staring at the art as if he could see it happening before his eyes. Then, he jumped to his knees and reached out for the third sheet, grabbing the green crayon and painting the largest upside-down U, which took two thirds of the blank space. 

   “Oh, I see, the story deserves an even happier ending.” 

   The kit didn’t answer, excitedly focused on finishing his masterpiece. He drew, above the green thing, a red triangle hat and two oval eyes, and what looked like a tail behind it. Snufkin paused the drawing, not taking his crayon out of the paper, and pointed at his father.

   “What?” Joxter asked, puzzled, even more so when Snufkin pointed at the new character. “...Me? Me?!” He gaped, gazing at the sketch his kit did of him. “That’s me!”

   Snufkin laughed silently, nodding. Joxter’s world lit up just like his kit’s world did.

   “What am I doing in this picture? I look pretty badass, I must admit!”

   The boy drew the blue park keeper again, except this time he seemed to have lost his scary and haunting aura as Snufkin drew two scared and pathetic eyes instead of evil ones. He completed the drawing with a cage around the bad guy, again adding bars until the park keeper had vanished.

   The two mumriks laughed together, happier than the happy ending itself for making it perfect. In the end, Joxter did have a villain to hunt that night, whom he had heroically defeated.

   And until it was breakfast the following morning, the two of them did nothing but sleep the lost sleepless hours off inside the table tent, both purring with wonderful dreams where park keepers were way smaller than mumrik kits and children could be children.

Chapter Text

   "Papa Joxter?" 

   "Hm?" he answered, pouting at the way his wonderful dream about crimes and pies was taken from him.

   "I'm really sorry I woke you up last night."

   "Don't be, kit, it's alright," Joxter sat up and yawned. "I'm actually glad I was awake to see you, it was fun, don't you think?"

   Snufkin hummed in agreement and watched as his father stretched like a cat, first his arms and then each of his legs, tail up and claws out. 

   But then the man stilled.

   He blinked at Snufkin.

   Then frowned, squinting his still-sleepy eyes. He opened his mouth, but closed it right after because of his lack of words, tilting his head.

   And then, finally, Joxter gasped, aghast as his brain finally seemed to notice: Snufkin spoke. Snufkin could talk . Said kit was giggling at the man's ridiculous over-surprised expression.

   "SNUFKIN BOY, YOU CAN TALK!" 

   "I can!"

   "YOU CAN!" he laughed, giving his son the tightest hug. "That's great! But how?!"

   "I don't know," Snufkin reached over to his own neck. "When I purred.. I think- I think that was it. I felt it, I felt I could speak."

   "All you needed to do was to purr? Huh, I've heard purring is good for your health, but I didn't know it could cure muteness."

   "Purring is healthy? I thought it was just a lullaby."

   "It is. But, as the smart people say, one can sing their sorrows away," Joxter patted Snufkin's hat and smiled. "C'mon, let's tell your friends you can talk!"

   And that was how it was found out Snufkin had a voice. In the first few days, his voice was a bit way too raspy and low, not much louder than a whisper – which meant Joxter was right about the fact that Snufkin’s voice was similar to his songs, always quiet and hushed – but after some time, it turned out to be a beautiful voice. Of course he didn’t play his harmonica any less, he was still Snufkin and Snufkin was a shy kit after all, and having his voice back wasn’t going to make him enjoy talking instead of playing his songs (Snufkin still had to be reminded all the time "You can talk now, you know" so that he'd stop struggling to sign some words out, too).

   There were also new things Snufkin started doing after that: he'd ask Moominpappa about his books, he'd help Moominmamma in the kitchen and, most of all, he'd spend a little more time with his friends now. Not only because they kept making countless questions about Snufkin (questions they had probably been meaning to ask for months) – the boy had himself a whole list of things and thoughts he had always wanted to share with each of his friends. 

   One day, when Joxter was sneakingly taking stinky fish heads from his bucket and hiding them one by one under Moominpappa's pillow, Snufkin decided to use his new voice to ask one thing he had never had a chance to ask anyone,

   "Papa Joxter, do I have a mommy?"

   Startled, the man jumped in place, sloppily twisting on his feet to look at the kit standing at the door and accidentally scattering the half-eaten fish all over Mama's bed. Joxter ended up on the floor after slipping on what looked like instant karma with his empty, dirty bucket on his face.

   "Oof.." he let out a whine, muffled by the bucket. 

   "I thought you had said all mumriks land on their feet," Snufkin chortled, walking over to where his defeated father was and picking the bucket up, revealing Joxter's playful glower. "And that it was a lie that the black furred ones have bad luck."

   "Shush you, I can't believe you magically got yourself a voice just so you could roast me like that!"

   Joxter stood up, dusting off his green coat, and took a look at the mess he had made. Both the Moomins' beds and the floor were covered in slimy fish waste, while it was supposed to be Moominpappa's pillow only.

   "Don't call anyone, they'll definitely kick me out if they see this," he warned, looking for clean sheets around the room. "Anyways, what did you want to ask me?"

   "I'd like to know if.. if I have a mommy."

   "Of course you do, it's Little My's mother, the Big Mymble."

   "That means Little My is my sister," the boy contemplated. "But then where is my mommy Mymble..? Why isn't she with you?"

   "She's up in her house with her kids, probably," Joxter told him as he threw the smelly bed sheets out the window. "I only see her once a year for three months, during the Fall, because I travel North during Spring and Summer and she hibernates during Winter. 

   This year, though, I have barely even talked to her. As soon as I heard about you, I came here to Moominvalley and simply forgot to go visit her."

   "...I'm sorry."

   "Then you should stop it, mumriks don't feel sorry, kit. It was my choice to come, not anybody else's."

   Snufkin nodded and sat on a chair, staring at the ground as he silently pondered something out.

   "Do you love Mama Mymble?"

   The kit watched as Joxter paused his clumsy work with the bed covers to let out the most lovesick sigh Snufkin had ever heard. He resumed it with a loving smile as he told his son,

   "I love your Mama Mymble the lotest lot, immensely and deeply."

   "Even more than you love me?"

   "No. I love you and all of your siblings much more than I love her," Joxter eventually finished making the two beds – a terrible job he did, but at least it was clean now – and sat next to Snufkin's chair on the floor. "If a daddy and a mommy love each other more than they love their children, they shouldn't have had kids in the first place, now, should they? I would give my life for your mother, but I would give both mine and hers for you.

   I still love her like nobody else, unconditionally."

   "But–" Snufkin frowned, though his father couldn't see it. "But then why do you leave?"

   "Leave?"

   "Why do you go on your trips if it means you'll only see mommy for three months a year?" he questioned, truly confused. "Couldn't you stay with her in Spring and Summer too and leave in Winter when she's asleep?"

   "Well, kit, have you ever heard that the bigger your heart is, the more it fits inside of it?"

   Snufkin shook his head and Joxter continued,

   "My heart isn't that big. It fits only three things inside of it: your Mama Mymble, you and your siblings, and freedom. Freedom is my nature.. It is my life, it's what I live for, and I would never ever give it away. 

   So I guess you could say I love my freedom more than I love you, I love you more than I love your mother, and I love your mother more than anything in the world. 

   I'm not sure if you'll ever understand how much I love travelling, walking alone wherever and whenever I want, but I hope you do one day. Because you're a mumrik too, Snufkin, and freedom should be tattooed on your soul just like it is on mine."

   The kit lowered his head, lost in thought. He knew there was no way his heart was bigger than his father's because Joxter was a lot taller than him, but he wasn't sure his heart was even big enough for anything to fit inside of it. Snufkin loved his father, his sister and the Moomins, and yet, he was certain he would never give his life for any of them – he'd be too scared to voluntarily die for anyone, really. Maybe when he grew up he could love someone enough for keeping them inside his heart like his father did. 

   Snufkin would surely enjoy being able to carry Moomintroll around in his heart so that they'd never be apart, and Joxter too so that he never lost his father again. But freedom… He couldn't love it if he hadn't ever had a taste of it. Snufkin never felt what people call 'free', he admitted. Freedom was something he longed and feared at the same time, because how can one do whatever one feels like doing just for fun? Snufkin had seen his friends play together out in the open and he'd always had to look away – "this is not okay" and "they're going to get caught" overwhelmingly loud inside his head – how was he supposed to try it himself?

   No, Snufkin didn't understand. He did hope he could be like his father one day, though he didn't really see that happening.

   "Do you think Mama Mymble loves me too?" he decided to ask.

   "I'm sure she does, but she's the only one who can tell you that."

   Joxter inspected his son's behavior for anything that could mean he was sad and the kit's drooping shoulders gave it away. The man sighed. Mymbles were strange creatures, some were overly lovely and some had the weirdest way of showing affection. His wife was one of those last ones, she loved in her own way and the best you could do about it was to stop trying to understand. That was why Joxter naturally put the fact that Mymble abandoned Snufkin aside: it could either mean she hated or cared about the kit. And of course, if she did hate that boy, Joxter didn't want Snufkin to know about it. However, if she did not, he begged the universe for Snufkin to be the first to know it.

   "We could go visit her and maybe she'd answer you."

   "But I-" the kit perked up. "I'm too scared to–"

   "Snufkin. Do you remember your dream row?"

   "..Yes, I do."

   "Do you think your daddy can't protect you like I did on the row?" he didn't wait for a reply. "Your mommy doesn't live far from here, I'd be with you the whole trip, there's nothing to be afraid of. And you can purr all the way up there if it makes you feel safer."

   The green hat tilted downwards as Snufkin considered the idea for a bit until he muttered,

   "I want to go visit Mama Mymble."

   "That's the spirit!"

   "And then he said my mommy Mymble is the only one who can tell me whether she loves me or not," Snufkin told his friends while they sat on the porch, waiting for his father to get ready. "I honestly have no idea myself."

   "She doesn't even know you, I'm not sure it would make sense for her to love you," Sniff shrugged. "I don't love my mommy, for example, because I've never met her. There's no way two can love each other without knowing each other first."

   "Don't say such a thing, Sniff! Of course she loves him!" Snorkmaiden huffed before turning to Snufkin and smiling. "My mommy and my daddy left for a trip when I was very, very small, but I still love them a lot even though I don't remember them! And my brother Snork told me they love me too, so I think it is possible, like soul bonding!"

   "What? 'Soul bonding'?" Little My cackled, falling off the porch-steps with laughter. "Do you really think your brother is telling the truth? Does he get letters from your parents or something?"

   "Snork wouldn't lie, he's my big brother!"

   "Oh, trust me, as a big sister myself I know a lie when I see one."

   "My parents do love me!"

   "That's not the issue here, Snorkmaiden–"

   "Snufkin, if your mommy doesn't love you, then I'm sure she'll change her mind when she sees how wonderful you are!" Moomin interrupted the two girls just before they could start fighting. From his place at the floor, with his head on Snufkin's lap, he started to excitedly bounce his legs as he suggested, "You could let me go with you, so I could tell her all about how you're an amazing friend!"

   "Stop trying to convince him into taking you, Moomin, Mister Joxter said it is a family thing already!" Snorkmaiden rolled her eyes.

   "But I am family! Right, Snufkin? We're like adopted brothers!"

   "No, no, little Moomintroll, you're not family yet. Besides, you'll have a whole chapter for yourself in the end," Joxter butted in the conversation, making all the kids jolt in surprise. "Shall we get going, Little My, Snufkin?"

Chapter Text

   Determination was the first step to doing something really hard or trying something new. A first step was the second step in Snufkin's case, and he just couldn't do it . He should have known things would not suddenly be a lot easier just because he knew his father would be there for him – the grass and the open valley still looked like a scene straight from a horror movie to his eyes (and Snufkin hated straight things) even with Joxter holding his hand.

   "Are you seriously gonna chicken out right now ?!" Little My scoffed. 

   "Little My, let Snufkin take his time," Joxter scolded, but then let out a suffering sigh, "Please, Snufkin boy, take your time a bit faster."

   He wanted to, of course he wanted to go, but he shouldn't! Who knew what would happen to him if he went against the rules of- of what? Snufkin wasn't sure, but he certainly didn't want to find out. As his friends, his sister and his father looked at him expectantly, he also couldn't help but feel even more anxious. 

   "I- I can't- I'm- It's not-" the young mumrik stuttered, letting go of his father's hand to clutch at his own scarf. "I can't step on the grass, a- and I shouldn't walk on it. It's not right."

   "What do you mean?" Snorkmaiden analysed the grass for anything that could scare someone away. "We walk on grass all the time and never get hurt because of it!"

   "You shouldn't, it's v- very ..dangerous? I don't know why, but it's extremely wrong to do so." 

   "What, has anything bad ever happened to you just because you stepped on grass?" Sniff rubbed his feet on the dirt, making Snufkin flinch.

   "Yes, multiple times."

   That last comment had Joxter gritting his teeth, glaring in hate – not at Snufkin and not at any of those kids – at the universe, because how dare they? Snufkin was just a kit, did that damned river really have to hand him over to the worst people possible? The North River had led Joxter himself to meet the kindest creatures, why was it that different for a baby in a basket? He wanted to murder all park keepers in North just to make sure he could avenge his son's lost childhood. However, before Joxter could say anything, Moomintroll gasped,

   "Snufkin, what if Mister Joxter takes you on a piggyback ride to your mommy's house? That way, you won't have to walk on the grass!"

   "That-" the man blinked. "That's actually a really great idea, little Moomin. What do you think, Snufkin boy?"

   "Aren't you going to get tired?"

   "No way, you weigh barely two watermelons."

   "Then.. I think I'd like that," Snufkin shyly grinned behind his yellow scarf, relaxing for once.

   And so, after saying goodbye, the three of them started their short trip, Snufkin on Joxter's back and Little My on the front, guiding the man to her big sister's house. When Joxter went to Moominvalley, he wasn't really himself, which meant he did not remember the way back to his wife's house, but Little My told him she knew someone who could take them there: the Mymble's Daughter (also known as Mymble Jr), the elder of the Big Mymble's first litter ever, unknown father. Joxter had sweet memories of that girl even though she was already a grown up kid when he first met her, long before he and his wife started dating. Yet, he helped take care of her and her siblings in that Happy (Creepy) Kingdom as much as he could – which hadn't been much, frankly, Joxter was too young to truly understand the responsibility back then… If you were to ask Joxter, he’d say he did regret surrendering to responsibility that early in life, although Mymble made sure he felt free in their relationship, kids are still a way to tie one down. ‘Mental note to self,’ the man grimaced, ‘Teach Snufkin that responsibility is for old, tied down, depressing and decaying mumriks only’.

   (Oh, Joxter. Oh no , Joxter.)

   “OPEN UP, BIG FROG-EYED DUMB-HEAD!” Little My yelled, knocking at her big sister’s door when they got there. 

   From inside the awfully small house, they could hear loud chattering and shouting, but those stopped a second after the little girl knocked.

   “Little My, don’t call your sister names,” the dark-haired mumrik reprimanded. “You should apologize as soon as she opens the d–”

   “What do you want, you little onion-head gremlin?!” the young woman opened her front door, huffing in annoyance before spotting the tall man and flustering, covering her mouth immediately. “Mister Joxter!”

   While Little My bawled with laughter and Snufkin giggled, Joxter face-palmed at the terrible way he had accidentally raised his children. 

   “Hello there, Mymble The Second,” he greeted, ignoring the squeaky ‘I told you to stop calling me that!’ she gave him. “It's been a while. How’s things?”

   “To be honest, Mister Joxter, to be totally honest , things couldn’t be worse,” Mymble Jr slid her two hands down her face, making it noticeable that she had two horrid dark circles under her eyes and frown marks between her eyebrows. “Earlier this year, I had finally managed to buy myself – and myself only – this house and mom decided she’d hand me her whole last litter. 28 kids, Mister Joxter, 28 Tove forsaken kids in my lovely one-person house! I don’t even have a boyfriend!”

   “This is really no house for 29 messy mymbles. You don’t seem to be dealing with them too well either… Aw, come over here, my precious girl,” Joxter opened his arms, a sorry smile on his face. As Mymble Jr collapsed in his embrace with a growl, he patted her back, “You do deserve a break, but don’t get mad at your mother, you know how she can be like. What if we take the kids back to her, hm? These two and I were heading there anyway.”

   “Really? But she’s with the new litter already!”

   “Trust me, My Daughter, your mother won’t even notice.”

   The girl fluttered some spark into her blue eyes and nodded, rushing back inside to call her little siblings. Snufkin was aghast under his hat. First, his father really was a good father, he saw. He knew that already, of course, but the fact that he was as kind to that mymble as he was to Snufkin was amusing all the same. Second, he had not only a Little My as his sister, but an older Little My, and seemingly another 28 smaller Little Mys and an entire litter of even smaller Little Mys as siblings up at his Mama Mymble’s. How was that even possible?! How many siblings did he have exactly? Only thirty? Did he have any more siblings? Why hadn’t he ever been introduced to them? How many of them were old enough to have taken care of him when he was a baby? Why had he been sent on a basket if his mother had so many children and never sent them off too? Was he the only one who thought it was just the slightest bit unfair? 

   Nonetheless, Snufkin brushed it aside. He didn’t know the whole history, it was only natural that he started making things up in his head, besides, his mother surely wouldn’t have chosen him – specially – for no apparent reason, to dump on that river. Or would she?

   Twenty-eight mymble kids burst through the door and practically threw themselves at Joxter, who was barely able to keep himself on his feet during the attack as he was also laughing hard, hugging as many of them as he could. 

   “Mister Joxter, you’re back!”, “I missed you thaaaaat much, Mister Joxter!”, “Why does your backpack have a hat, Mister Joxter?”, “Mister Joxter, you won’t believe what happened this year!” they chorused. 

   They proceeded with their trip, the Mymble’s Daughter and Little My first with Joxter right behind, all the kids making a fuss and fighting over who should be the one to get his full attention while Joxter insisted he would listen one by one. Meanwhile, Snufkin did his best to stay still so he didn't have children fighting over his attention too (he appeared to have nailed it since even Mymble Jr had assumed he was just a backpack). Sometimes, though, his big sister would turn to stare at him with an unreadable expression on her face, somewhere between pity and envy somehow, say nothing, and turn back to keep her eyes on the road. As they thought, it wasn't a long ride, and soon they had reached the top of the mountain where a lovely, unnecessarily tall wooden house was. It seemed to have at least four floors, walls painted unprofessionally with all colors and each window had a different design, and, like Moominhouse, it had a porch, but it was so long it stretched all around the house in a circle. 

   "What a strange house," he muttered to himself. "It looks like a kindergarten."

   "Here we are. Kids, listen well: before going in, each of you must roll on the dirt and get mud all over your clothes. In doing so, your mother will think you were just out playing in the garden and will let you in for new clothes and a snack," Joxter announced, leaving Snufkin on the porch's floor. “I can’t believe you hadn’t tried this before, Mymble The Second, you know your mother forgets everything as soon as she says it.”

   The twenty-eight kids nodded and did what they had been told to do. They were quick to get themselves caked in mud until they were unrecognizable and, only then, Joxter knocked on the door.

   After at least ten minutes, the door opened. Snufkin had to bite away a gasp at how enormously big the woman was. She was cradling for about thirty onions on her arms for some reason, all buried on the long fluffy, purple fur coat she wore, and, on her forehead, there were two antennas similar to giraffes' horns. If that was his mother, then there was no chance Snufkin didn’t fit inside her heart – in fact, he was sure there was nothing out there that couldn’t fit inside it – for her heart was most certainly huge like she was.

   The moment the big woman's eyes landed on Joxter, she beamed as if she had found gold and yeeted the onions so she could wrap her arms around the mumrik instead. The man, though, was fast to duck from the hug to catch each of the onions just before they could hit the ground.

   "My!" he was half scolding and half glad to see her. "What did I tell you about letting babies fall?!"

   "Oh, yes, yes, silly me," she took the onions and tucked them safely (?) in her giant pockets. "I 'should not let babies fall' because they could 'hit their heads and perish'. I'm sorry, won't do it again!"

   "That's my wonderful Mymble!"

   As the mymble bent down to kiss all the air off Joxter's lungs (with a loud and exaggerated gagging sound from Little My as their romantic background music), Snufkin stared petrified at the onions in her pockets because it seemed they were actually babies . 

   That would be alright if they were onions, in that case, she'd have an understandable reason to be careless. They were not onions, though. They were babies, probably his siblings, and she could have caused them to get really hurt if it wasn't for his father – how was that woman even legally allowed to have children? She wasn't clumsy, she just didn't care! Joxter had to get away from that psychopath, Snufkin decided, she was no good mother and there was simply no way she was a good wife either.

   "Are you finally back, beloved?" the Big Mymble asked her husband, not quite allowing the kiss to end as she stood barely an inch from his face. "Did you find the kit?"

   "I came to visit, but not to stay yet," Joxter looked at his own feet, ashamed, while caressing her chin. "I did find the kit, though. He's just over there! The Moomins named him Snufkin."

   "Snufkin? I would have named him Little Jokes or Joxter Jr, but I guess Snufkin is alright too," Mymble gazed at the little boy, giggling when Joxter said 'I know, right?!' and then picked him up to her bed-sized chest to squeeze him. "I am SO glad you're okay, my darling. Oh, of course you are okay, you're a mumrik! Wait- Where is your tail? I'm pretty sure you used to have one."

   Snufkin twitched uncomfortably on her arms, suffocated by all the purple fur of her coat but unable to move any of his limbs. Before he could answer, fortunately or not, the Big Mymble spotted the twenty-eight dirty kids by her porch and released Snufkin – who fell the two meters on his back on the floor with an audible 'thud' – to place her hands on her head,

   "Goodness! For how long have you all been playing out here?"

   "A whole week, Mama Mymble!", "Five months, no breaks!", "The entire year, Mama Mymble!", they replied.

   "Oh dear, oh dear.. My Daughter, you're here too!"

   "I- Yes, mother, but–"

   "Go and wash each of them in the garden's spigot, will you? There's food in the kitchen and new clothes in their room," she hushed the blue-eyed girl and took her husband by the hand. "Joxter and I will be upstairs in my bedroom if you need anything."

   Snufkin was absolutely indignated, frowning as he watched his father easily give in and follow Mymble with a dumb grin on his face, as if the man was completely hypnotized, lost deep in his own love for that horrible woman. Joxter hadn't even bothered to help Snufkin up after she had dropped him! What was wrong with his father?! 

   The boy wasn't the only outraged one out on the porch. Both Little My and Mymble Jr had angry scowls on their faces too for different reasons: Little My was disgusted, and the Mymble's Daughter was exhausted. He pressed his lips together to avoid grunting in anger as he stood up, rubbing his aching back. 

   Snufkin did not like that woman.

   He wanted his father back. He wanted to go home. It was clear that, even though she seemed to have the biggest heart ever, he wasn't inside her heart – it seemed he had never even been through her head! So he fastly trod his way into the house to go after and save his dad.

Chapter Text

   Joxter had, with no doubt, missed Mymble way more than he thought he had. Touching her hands, hearing her voice and even looking at her – he had missed it so much he forgot the reason for the visit in the first place; the moment she looked down into his eyes and sweetly suggested they'd go to her room, goodness, he completely lost it. 

   They rushed upstairs hand in hand, laughing out of pure joy, occasionally twirling and almost tripping on each other’s feet. Locked out in their own little world, they failed to notice the quiet kit skipping after them in equal hurry. The couple didn't think twice – as soon as they entered the bedroom, they launched themselves into Mymblehouse's only bed, making it creak loudly under their weight, and started a second fit of giggles and kisses. As usual in times like this, Joxter's shirt was unbuttoned at that point (coat nowhere to be seen), untying his wife’s soft, red wavy hair so that he could play with it as Mymble threw his hat somewhere else to do the same to his fluffy, dark curls. Wasn’t it amazing how everything could suddenly feel so perfect and so peaceful as long as one is wrapped in their lover’s arms? 

   Unfortunately, their lovey-doveying was interrupted before Mymble could get her coat off when Joxter felt somebody pulling at his tail. Mymble's bed was purposely set too high for any child to easily climb it up, so the man could hardly see the top of his son's green hat. 

   "Kit? What are you doing up here?"

   "Papa, I want to go home."

   "What?! No way, we just got here!"

   "I don't like it, I really want to go back home."

   Oh no. Joxter couldn't go back to Moominhouse, not before spending some proper time with his wife. He had to make up for all these lost weeks of autumn, that was literally the first time he got to see her that year. Time should not be wasted.

   "Nonsense, have you tried playing with your siblings? I'm sure they'd like to meet you. And Mymble's Daughter might need help washing them," he nuzzled the back of his wife's hand, aching to have some alone time with her at once. "Besides, you have barely spoken to your mommy."

   "I don't like it here," Snufkin replied stubbornly. "I don't like my sister Mymble, she gives me weird looks, and I don't like mommy."

   "Snufkin boy, that's not a good thing to say. You have to give your family a chance, alright?," Joxter was feeling his patience getting thinner the more seconds he saw passing by. "We're staying."

   But, like his father, Snufkin could be quite persistent when he wanted something to be done, too. Maybe his father didn't realize it, but the Big Mymble wasn't a good company and Snufkin knew that – he was highly convinced his mother was, in reality, a witch and she had put a brainwashing spell down on his father, a possible solution was for them to stay away from her until it wore off. It obviously was a spell, it had to be magic, for Joxter had never ignored Snufkin before, very less had he ever been that visibly mad at Snufkin. 

   “I don’t care if she's my mommy, I want to go home, and Moomintroll is family too.”

   “No, he’s–”

   Snufkin stomped. He shouldn’t have. Because that was the last straw for Joxter, who immediately stood up with a.. scary glower on his face, stomping back at his son on both of his feet and raising his voice to tell him,

   “I am not accepting this attitude, little mister, you listen to me when I speak,” he towered over Snufkin. “ This is your home, this is your family, and I am your father, you do what I tell you to do. I know you don't have what it takes to be a normal mumrik, but is it too much to ask for you to be a normal child , Snufkin, for Tove’s sake, is it really that difficult ?!” The kit was frozen in shock, aghast, unable to react at the rare event. Joxter didn’t let the silence last much longer as he declared pointedly, “You’re going to go downstairs, help your sister in the garden, play with your siblings like children do, and then, only then , you can come up here to tell me you want to go back to Moominhouse. Have I made myself clear?”

   Still petrified, Snufkin couldn’t manage to utter a single word – and he tried, he opened his mouth and let air out through it, but that was it, only air. Aware of the way his newly gained voice, to which all of his friends had loved listening, had faded away so quickly, as if none of his best moments with his father had ever happened, panic slowly settled inside his bones. His vision was cloudy with tears, his throat felt like it was burning and his body begged him to do anything aside from trembling. The room seemed too small and tight all of the sudden, the fact that the windows were all closed just felt so cruel right then, so he scrambled out of his parents' bedroom and downstairs without looking back. All walls were mocking him, clenching together around his insignificant form, leaving him no other option but to go outside like his father had told him to.

   However, he didn't stop at the porch. He didn't stop at the garden either. He didn't stop. 

   Stepping on the grass was the least of his worries, along with his weak lungs and legs, which were years unused to running. It hurt, yes, yet his fear was a lot bigger, the grim déjà-vu of the situation only made things worse. Snufkin wasn't sure if his siblings had noticed him running away, but he could vaguely recall someone saying his name as he entered the forest.

  Snufkin had never thought he'd once think of his father as scary. Joxter had, until that day, been flawlessly sweet, the accurate definition of 'safety', anger wasn't something that fit well in his blue cat-like eyes anyway. Had the man been pretending all of this time? Or was he just mad at the way Snufkin kept insisting on going home? The answer wasn't the tiniest bit evident.

   What was evident , though, was that Joxter had lied. 

   There was no way Snufkin occupied more space than the Big Mymble inside his father's heart if that woman could replace him like that, if Joxter thought spending time with her was a necessity and spending time with Snufkin was just a task. He had sent the kit away, he had yelled at his son for the first time, all because Mymble was crucially important, much more than Snufkin was. Joxter did love that wicked woman more than he loved his own kit, that's what Snufkin saw.

   Well, at least now Joxter had what he wanted: some alone time with his wife, and that would last days, months even, because Snufkin wasn't planning on going back after his discovery. Maybe he could find Moominvalley by himself, he really needed Moomintroll to hold his hand at the moment. 

   Luck wasn't on Snufkin's side though – facing panic had him lost in a forest he didn't know, not sure if, to find his way to his valley, he should head back or keep going. When he had the time to notice that he was lost, after dashing through the red Autumn woods for what appeared to be hours until he had satisfactorily calmed down, Snufkin also noticed other three things.

   One, he was walking on grass, with boots and all.

   Two, he was completely alone, in a place nobody would hear him calling.

   Three, he was going to die. That last one was his irrational side of the brain talking, but he strongly agreed all the same. Walking on the grass was not something that should be done, he knew that, and yet there he was, still pacing nervously over the yellowish lawn, surrounded by it. Many things could happen. He didn't know what things those were, just that they were bad.

   That was why his lungs didn't have much more than a second or two of peace since he started panicking again. There were no signs around that told him to stay away from the apparently harmless fluffy turf and no park keepers to punish him for doing so, still, nothing could stop them from appearing mid-air straight from behind him, right? Snufkin, then, decided it would be safer to find somewhere free from grass (climbing up a tree was just as bad as stepping on grass, because, as Snufkin remembered, "plants were decoration, not playground"). 

   Luckily this time, it took him barely a minute to find a spot that was not only free from grass but from dirt and mud too: a river. The riverbed was large, but not too deep, littered with smooth-looking pebbles and not pointy or sharp rocks. He could also see some fish here and there, algae too, of course… it was safe enough. 

   Snufkin took his boots off and rolled up his pant legs before rushing inside of it. Once his feet were completely underwater, he stopped to look down. The water was crystalline due to the fast flowing stream, and yet he couldn't see his feet, as expected. He couldn't recall ever seeing them anyways. But he still cried.

   Because he couldn't see his feet, because he had lost his voice again, because the water was freezingly cold, because he was alone, because he had stepped on grass, because his father was mad at him, because his mother didn't love him, because he wasn't a 'normal mumrik' nor a 'normal child' ... Snufkin cried and cried, silent as always, unnoticed by the big open forest. 

   He was so scared he felt hopeless and his father wasn't there to protect him from whatever; that day, it had been his father himself the reason Snufkin was frightened in the first place. What a plot twist. Weeping, he tried to picture Joxter by his side, crouching down and telling him that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he and purring would both be there for him, just like it had been earlier that morning. 

   Sadly, his vocal cords seemed to be gone, he couldn't feel his voice box and therefore he was unable to purr a comforting lullaby for his own ears the way Joxter had suggested. Snufkin hiccupped a sob once again at how pathetic he felt – but then his eyes glimmered as he thought of an alternative. In a swift sloppy move, he took the mouth organ Moominpappa had given him out of his pocket. 

   Worth a try, hm? The kit inhaled as slowly as possible and started his song. 

   At first, he couldn't even hear it.

   That was no reason to give up though, so he kept trying until a fluid and light melody came up, as calm and sweet as Snufkin could play it, soaring through the woods. It sounded so magical right then that, when he felt his voice itching back in his throat, he ignored it.

   Automatically, he joined the flow of the river, meandering one step by one musical note. The boy let the music and the stream take him away, he didn't care where the next stop was, all he cared about were his beautiful happy harmonica songs. Snufkin didn't even care that his feet were turning numb in the cold, or that he forgot his boots by the riverside – his eyes were closed shut and his ears belonged to his tune.

   Joxter was right, one could really just sing their sorrows away. And Snufkin wasn't sure he would ever want to stop doing it.

Chapter Text

   The Big Mymble knew a very important fact that she surely would never get used to: it was that the definitions of freedom for mumriks and mymbles were quite irregular. Mumriks were against the rules, mymbles were above the rules, and believe it or not, those were two very different things.

   She raised her children the same way she was raised herself, which was the same way her mother had been raised, which happened to be the same way her mother's mother had been raised too – it goes on and on, it's tradition and nature's work – all mymble kids were raised free, by themselves, completely independent on their parents. Many thought that was because mymbles don't get attached to family, but that isn't really true (in fact, mymbles are normally overly attached to the creatures they love); they're just unable to understand the logic of "to wish your children's respect" because that's not the same "to respect your children's wishes" they grew up to. Mymbles don't bother taking care of their children, they do what they do and nobody has the right to go and stop them, and, accordingly, it's unwise for any of them to expect their kids to follow what they command.

   Joxter, as a mumrik, had a completely separate point of view.

   The most noticeable difference between mumrik parenting and mymble parenting was that, while mymble kids were raised free, mumrik kits were raised to be free. Mymble, in her first few years with Joxter, was perplexed by the way that man put so much effort in creating a bond with each of her kids; he'd teach them silly tricks and useful hacks every day, ask them the most random questions and join them on whatever they were doing. Later on, she found out that was how mumriks raised their children, overprotectively but extremely carefully and lovingly, which was quite the opposite of how mymbles did it. 

   Mumrik parenting was all about affection, a lovely thing really, but there was a downside too; they, for some reason, believed that, once the parents were the wise ones, their children should obey them. What an irony it is, mumriks were known for doing whatever they were told not to, and yet they're taught to respect their parents as authorities. She guessed it was a necessary instinct since mumriks normally lived out there in places that could be dangerous for little kits who didn't know how to follow instructions, which meant obedient kits were more likely to survive.

   So Mymble hadn't been particularly surprised when Joxter yelled at Snufkin for the lack of that important respect he was getting, he had done that many other times before with her kids for similar reasons. The lost and found kit acted the same way his siblings usually did in this specific situation, clearly scared, and voicelessly bursted out of the room. She hadn't been surprised at that either, she thought they'd quickly resume their fun moment once the boy had left.

   What she hadn't been expecting, though, was for her husband to sink down on the bed and ever-so-slowly curl up on himself, head between his hands and tail unhappily swinging behind him from side to side as he muttered,

   "I am the world's worst fucking father."

   Hastily, Mymble fetched a jar of water and casually spilled it over her overwhelmed husband, who hissed like a frightened cat, overreacting to the point of falling to the floor and screaming,

   "WHY'D YOU DO THAT?!"

   "You insulted my husband. Bad Joxter. Bad cat."

   "I AM YOUR HUSBAND!"

   "That doesn't justify your sins, my love."

   "Oh, fuck me," he gave up, throwing his arms above his head.

   "Maybe later, but first I'd like to know where all that self-hatred came from. Darling?"

   "But you're the worst at emotional uplifting speeches."

   She spilled some more water over his body.

   "ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, JUST STOP, FOR TOVE'S FREAKING SAKE," Joxter snarled. "Snufkin's a special kit, you know. He's uh, he's been through lots of stuff. And the boy's always so scared , and I, I just fucking scared him away , Mymble. I promised him I'd protect him, but I.."

   "You messed things up really bad, right?"

   "...SEE? I TOLD YOU, YOU'RE THE WORST AT–"

   "Wrong. Even though you might have acted out of rage, he kind of needed to learn not to.. stomp at his father or whatever made you mad. If you think that was a mistake, you should go and apologize to him later, but you didn't mess things up if they were messed up already."

   "Oh. Keep going."

   "We've got plenty of other special kids, do you remember them? Are they still out there?"

   "Yeah, the sad kids."

   "You've never made them feel like they're special in a bad way. You, as the world's best father, treat them the exact same way you treat all the other kids. Snufkin may be a frightened kit, but that doesn't mean he isn't a kit. The fact he's been through something he shouldn't have at his age doesn't make him any older, does it?"

   "Wait. You're not trying to cheer me up. You're just telling me–"

   "Snufkin is a mumrik child, and has to be treated like one. You shouldn't feel bad for doing to him what you do to his siblings."

   Joxter clamped his mouth shut to think for a while. With his seemingly cat-sized brain, it took him some time, frowning a bit deeper every second, but he eventually appeared to get it. The dark haired man gasped, sitting up in shock at the conclusion,

   The only rule for being a mumrik was to disobey all rules, therefore if Snufkin was disobeying that only rule, he was a normal mumrik. And the only rule for being a child was to be very young, and Snufkin didn't have that one wrong either. Which meant the little ginger boy was a normal mumrik child out of logic. Joxter had been walking on eggshells all of this time, trying to help Snufkin be more like his other children and silently mourning the loss of his son's mumrik instincts while there was absolutely nothing wrong with him! Snufkin didn't need any help, he was a child already, and he hadn't lost his mumrik instincts, they were just not the same as Joxter's. 

   Yelling at Snufkin hadn't been a mistake itself but the choice of hurtful words that weren't even true in the end.

   "I think I have some serious apologizing to do," the man admitted. "But firstly to you, My love."

   "Are you going to tell me you're sorry for saying I'm bad at emotional support?"

   "Hell no, you still suck at it," Joxter sniggered, fast to dodge the last drops of water his wife tried to attack him with. He laughed hard at her angry, adorable pout until he had to breathe in and recompose before lowering his head, smile faint, “I missed you so much , Mymble. Heading back here after all these months, I daydreamed about how I’d jump right into your arms as soon as I arrived, how we’d cuddle for hours at the sofa, you knitting by my side as I tell you the histories of my trip North this year, and at nights I dreamt about how we'd swing on the swingers the entire weekend… I think none of that will happen this year and I am so sorry , love.

   I love you, you know that. But I owe Snufkin 10 years of actual care, and he- I thought if he got to know you, he'd decide to move out of Moominhouse, yet he doesn't seem to have settled in much. Help me, My. I want to stay, but he doesn't."

   "Well, beloved," the redhead took a deep thoughtful breath in. She had missed Joxter just as badly, so much it hurt to hear he was inclined to leave again for years – Mymble wasn't so sure she could handle 10 years without proper love and affection, and she knew Joxter wouldn't either (he looked like a wreck already, what would ten years make out of him?) – but the truth was that it shouldn't be their choice to make, it was Snufkin's. The Big Mymble stood up, looking down as she uttered in a grim tone, "What if, this time for once, you let him decide? Talk to the lost and found kit, let him understand our need to be together. Children sometimes know what's best for them and for us. Just this time, try the mymble way."

   "The mymble way.." he repeated, also standing up to take his wife's hands and deliver a kiss in each of her fingerprints and palms. "I like that. Yeah, it's gonna be alright. In any case, I'll bring you ten bottles next time."

   "Oh no," she giggled. "It'll turn into a collection."

   "If it's vodka instead of wine it won't last long enough for it to be a collection."

   "You can't steal that much vodka."

   "Believe me, I can, and I know exactly where to find it."

   "Joxter, you little hooligan."

   "I'd do that for you."

   "I love you too."

   Joxter gave his mymble a smiley peck on her lips, but when he tried to hug her, her stomach squeaked and started crying.

   "What the-" he stepped away, confusion clear on his face as he tried to remember if it was possible for babies to cry inside a belly (since when was Mymble pregnant anyways? It wasn't a good idea to get pregnant before winter, he had told her that). "...OH! THE BABIES!"

   "I forgot to leave them in their room!" the woman gasped, taking the thirty-four mymbles out of her pockets and into her arms. "It's a good thing we didn't have time to start fuc–"

   "MYMBLE, FOR TOVE'S FREAKING SAKE, HAVE YOU EVEN FED THEM TODAY?"

   "I was going to feed them, but you showed up at my door…"

   "What time is it- It's past lunch time. It's past- Goodness, we gotta go, My."

   The same way they had rushed upstairs to their room before, not caring about the world around them, they sprinted downstairs in despair to the kitchen. As they'd both predicted, the room had smoke, food wastes and kids making a fuss all over. The 28 kids were clean now, but it seemed they had forgotten to get themselves new clothes once they were running around naked, and Little My was at the stove stirring something in a stewpot bigger than herself.

   "Little My!" Joxter called through the mess, opening all the windows on his way to his daughter to get all of that dark smoke out. Once he reached the short girl, he made sure she was safely away from the fire before throwing fresh water over it. "What's going on?!"

   "HUNGER is going on. We're starving! And if you didn't replace food with mom, you'd be starving too by now."

   "STARVIIIIING!", "HuUuNgRy!", "LET'S EAT THE POSTMAN!", "I want FOOD!", the kids chantered.

   "I know your mother and I were busy, still if you didn't want to bother us, you could've called your big sister."

   "I did, but the dumbass told me she was exhausted," Little My pointed at a chair by the table, in which the Mymble's Daughter slept soundly, no hopes of waking up until the next few hours. "She sat there and passed out like a giant jerk, leaving ALL THE WORK to ME!"

   "Little My can't cook!", "I don't wanna eat coal!", "I CAUGHT THE POSTMAN!", "Her soup smells like butt!", the others wailed.

   "ALRIGHT, ALL OF YOU, CALM DOWN AND LISTEN," the mumrik announced. As all the noise vanished into silence, he continued, "Your Mama Mymble is here, okay? She is going to cook you a delicious meal, but you can't have lunch if you don't have your clothes, now, can you?"

   "Kinda?", "Maybe, I don't know, I wouldn't mind..", "THE POSTMAN DOESN'T SEEM TO CARE!", "It wouldn't be the first time we eat all nakey-nakey.." the mymbles mumbled.

   "No. No, you can't. Before eating, each of you must dry out and dress up. Is that okay?"

   The twenty-eight six-year-olds nodded and marched to their old room, finally allowing the man some peace of mind to get his thoughts in order. Joxter had not only ignored his son's need for leaving, but his children's need for food and his daughter's need for rest too – all because he had wanted Mymble so bad everything else seemed insignificant. That was the reason parents shouldn't love each other more than they love their children, because nobody wants to end up like the Willoughby's family, and Joxter had ignored that too.

   "Little My, you like catching and finding small things, right? Your baby siblings need food too, can you please go outside to try and find seeds or bugs?"

   "That seems fun!" she left through the window (like Joxter does).

   "My love, do you need any help in here?"

   "I can handle cooking, beloved, I've literally done it a thousand times."

   "I'm talking about the babies. You can't cook with them on your arms, they might fall."

   "Oh, you're right! Can you take them to their room? That big sleepy baby at the table too."

   The man didn't even try to fight a snicker as he picked the Mymble's Daughter up first the princess style, using her as a basket to take the thirty-four little mymbles to their room in safety. There, since there were no beds, he sat his daughter and his babies on a fluffy blanket inside the wardrobe. Shushing the crying ones with an improvised song, he accidentally woke the blue eyed girl up.

   "Hey there, Mymble The Second," he kissed her forehead. "Sorry I woke you up. Are you alright?"

   "I feel like I've had the best sleep in 365 nights, and it was barely a nap," Mymble Jr murmured through her teeth, without any real anger in her tone. 

   "You're free to go to your place now, to have some time alone, I suggest you proceed with your rest first."

   "Yeah.. I think I will. Thank you, Mister Joxter. Oh, is Snufkin back yet?"

   "Excuse me?"

   "Hadn't he left for the forest? I called him, but he didn't answer, so I thought he and Little My were playing hide-and-seek. I told him to be careful."

   "No... He was supposed to have helped you wash the kids, he wouldn't just run away, he's terrified of grass! Are you completely sure you're not hallucinating from sleep?"

   "I saw him," she yawned, drifting off to sleep once again. "I'm sure I did.."

   "Wait, wait, don't go to sleep yet! My Daughter!"

   The redhead's eyes only said 'closed until tomorrow' like a coffeeless coffee shop. Joxter was freaking out. He ran through the whole house calling for his mumrik kit, even at the garden, but that green hat was nowhere to be seen. Snufkin had really ran away. From him . 

   It wasn't fair for anybody really, that day was originally meant to be a special day for Snufkin, the one day he'd meet a third of his enormous family (his mother, his big sister, his twenty-eight little siblings and his thirty-four baby siblings). It was supposed to be fun and nice. Now Snufkin had run away on his special day and it was Joxter's fault.

   Well, he couldn't just stand there like the pathetic miserable father he was, so he started looking for tracks. It wasn't hard to find the kit's footprints, but since they were kinda sloppy and hard to follow ('As if he had been running for his life,' Joxter thought as he felt his heart sink) he decided to look for his son's scent instead. His nose was familiar with it, Snufkin's scent was similar to little Moomintroll's for some reason, just slightly more like hot cocoa, spotting it was easy in the middle of a forest. 

   For someone who refused to walk on grass, Snufkin had gone far , all the way down the hill to meet a river in which his scent had been washed away. Not just a river, though, that river's water flowed the same direction the moss on the trees grew, unlike all the other rivers in Moominvalley's area that usually followed West – it was the North River, the place Snufkin's history began – and there were the boy's boots by the riverside. 

   It was cloudy and windy, so if Snufkin really had gone with the flow, he could be in real danger, Joxter concluded. So he desperately trod his way down the river's path to go after his son, for it was now his turn to save that kit.

Chapter Text

   The sky looked shy that day, hiding away above the grayish threatening clouds, which were brought along by the strong and unstopping wind. That alerted the forest of an upcoming heavy Autumn rain, but no creature thought of that as a bad thing – the plants danced thrillingly, the birds sang and played around a bit lower than usual and the small forest animals took shelter inside their safe holes. 

   When Snufkin put his harmonica down so that the forest could have its turn to sing, he was surprised to find its unique and serene tune was something he could understand. The notes it played – the tricky wind blasts, busy creatures of all types, the determined fast flowing water, the lonely (yet cozy) silence – rustled and chirped and slithered at his ears like nothing he had ever heard, making his heart ache with sadness and flutter with happiness at the same time. What was this feeling that felt so terrifyingly good? What was it that made his eyes both water and sparkle? What was the name of that masterpiece the forest kept playing over the year with no breaks?

   He wished he could be part of it, playing his harmonica for a little longer, joining the forest's choir, but he could barely move his paws anymore – it was cold , freezing even. The water was now by his chest if he tiptoed, and even though his limbs were completely numb, his body still trembled at the ice-like temperature.

   Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to stay inside water for so long, at least not so close to Winter. Problem is, Snufkin didn't know if he should go back. He wasn't scared anymore, no, he felt like he could do anything now, that was not it; it was that he thought he wasn't wanted anymore. The kit had cried so much, but the beauty of the forest and the gentle breeze and flow had been the only ones to comfort him instead of his family. They didn't really care, did they? Even Joxter hadn't bothered to go looking for him, so why would he ever go back to Mymblehouse? Moominhouse was way better, Moomintroll was there waiting for him after all and Snufkin seriously would like some fluffy cuddles right then. He had no idea what direction Moominvalley was, though, so if he left the river, he'd be completely lost.

   "With some luck, it might only rain over the valleys," the young mumrik muttered. "Or maybe if I'm fast enough, I'll get somewhere before it starts ra–"

   A drop. He felt it on his hat. 

   Snufkin was doomed.

   "Please don't cry, clouds, not now!"

   They didn't listen to him, dark and annoyed for whatever had troubled them (what in the world was it that made the fluffy happy clouds in the sky cry so much?), tearing up more and more until they successfully made the river mad. The North River got immediately larger as its flow increased speed dangerously because of the extra fallen water. 

   Now, he was scared. It wasn't easy to keep his foothold on the mossy stones beneath and his paddling could barely keep him on the surface anymore.

   Snufkin wanted his father.

   "DADDY! PAPA JOXTER!" the kit shouted as high as he could, but even though his lungs were giving out their best, the overwhelmed clouds kept muffling his voice with thunder. Continuously hit by violent waves also got him struggling to breathe, so he called one last time, "DADDY, I'M SCARED –"

   And he was mercilessly shoved down by a piece of wood, a branch that had decided to leave its tree and now was helplessly being dragged away to the sea along with Snufkin. Underwater, the poor boy was completely unaware of what was happening around him, only that his tiny body couldn't stand a chance against the furious river's strength. With the insufficient oxygen he'd had time to breathe, the child held his hat firm on his head as he contemplated the sad ending of his own history: drowned, alone, in the one river that once saved his life, all because his father was mad at him. How unfair was that?

   Probably very unfair, but not correct, none of it.

   Because Joxter, who wasn't far from his son at the time, had heard the distressed calling and entered his mumrik trance in a second, which happened to be the same second Snufkin sank. His son was scared , he had heard, and like hell would he leave the boy alone in the middle of the forest and under a storm, so he jumped into the raging water without thinking twice. 

   The dark haired mumrik didn't even feel the cold bite at his skin, entranced, as he caught his child's scruff in his mouth like cat mothers do and swam back to land. Snufkin coughed and coughed, spitting swallowed water to the muddy dirt, shivering and agonizing for about three minutes while his father checked, sniffing his red dress and hat (again the same way felines do with their kits), for any bad injuries until the man, noticing his son was safe and sound, clicked out of his trance to give the ginger boy a tight and warm hug. 

   "I'm here. I'm here, kit, I'm not going to let go again," his hoarse voice whispered repeatedly, softly rocking the child in his arms. "You're safe. Daddy's got you."

   Snufkin wasn't sure he should trust what his father said, he didn't know if his father had forgiven him yet, being forced to save him from the river could have made Joxter even angrier. With that thought in mind, the young mumrik stilled, shuddering, and braced himself for any possible yelling or worse. He had found out that breaking rules – stepping on grass, running, wetting your clothes in water, playing his mouth organ as loud as possible for the whole forest to hear – was actually really fun, but what about being caught doing it? His brain was alerting from experience, of course, sure he knew now that it wasn't impossible to go against the rules, was it also impossible to do it without a punishment, though?

   At the unusual reaction, Joxter wondered if he had left his heart back on the river because he was pretty sure he could feel it sink. He sat up, shielding his son's small form from the rain as he told him,

   "Snufkin boy, do you know why it rains?" and as expected, there was no reply, but he kept going anyways, "The clouds, they cry all the uncried tears of creatures who can't cry for themselves. It is said that the more tears one holds inside, the more water drops the clouds will cry, the louder one wants to scream, the louder they thunder. I've heard the lighting is for unmanifested violence.

   It's fascinating, isn't it? Exciting, I'd say, to know that when a storm is coming your way, you can do nothing about it but hope that whoever is out there crying feels better soon. During roaring storms, I pray those aren't any of the people I love."

   The little green hat tilted up, indicating Snufkin was gazing at the weeping clouds up in the sky. He noticed the wind was dragging them away just as fast as it had brang them, that would mean the grayish weather wouldn't last long if the clouds weren't too many. Whoever had caused all of this fuss must have really needed a hug right then, he thought. 

   "This time, I think it is my fault," Joxter confessed. "I shouldn't have yelled at you, none of this would have happened if I had been a little more patient."

   And he froze, unable to process what his father had just said. The child hadn't done a thing of what his father had told him to do – instead he had decided to leave Mymblehouse and put his own life at risk (and lost his boots) – and yet, the man was the one to apologize? Were the clouds crying for him ? But since Joxter had assumed the silence was out of unacceptance, he sighed and continued,

   "I'm proud of you, kit, for going all this way out here on your own even if it was because you were afraid or mad at me, but if I could have avoided it, I would. You're my son, and that makes you a perfect mumrik child no matter what. Could you forgive me, Snufkin? I'm really sorry I made you feel like you had to run away."

   Though Joxter couldn't see it, his son was staring aghast from behind his wet scarf. There was no way Snufkin wasn't going to forgive his father, after all he had been shouting for that same man in less than five minutes ago – the kit trusted Joxter to protect him whenever he was in trouble, even when he didn't deserve it – but if his father planned to force him into staying at his Mama Mymble's house, he wasn't sure he wanted to give in that easily. 

   "Then you should stop it, mumriks don't feel sorry, Papa Joxter," the boy quoted a phrase from about four chapters ago, imitating the other's deeper voice. "It was my choice to come, not anybody else's."

   Joxter gaped at his son until he recognized the wise words as his own, laughing out loud in the most delightful way before wrapping his arms around the kit once again. Snufkin, this time, hugged back, clutching at the man's coat securely while his father stood up. But he didn't let his father walk too far without asking,

   "But.. Papa?"

   "Yes, kit?"

   "Are we going back home?"

   The dark haired mumrik paused, wondering which home was it that Snufkin was talking about.

   "You don't want to go back to Mymblehouse, do you?" he patted his son's back. "Snufkin, you stubborn little beast really won't accept your mother and siblings as family, am I right?"

   Snufkin's first thought was to say he was sorry, but.. he was a mumrik. No sorry's, no apologies, no 'thinking you are the wrong one here'. He shook his head,

   "Mama Mymble is my mommy and my brothers and sisters are my siblings, they might be my family, but mommy is a witch. She's put a spell on you and she is going to eat my baby siblings like onions, and–"

   "You got me in the first half, not gonna lie, but this took an unexpected twist," Joxter's eyes widened. "Your mommy is what, now? A witch? You think she put a spell on me?"

   "It's true, I swear! When she kissed you, I'm sure she had magic on her lips! I- I think that was why you.. you got so mad when I told you we should go home.. But it seems the rain has washed the spell off, so we should head straight to Moominhouse and never come back!"

   The poor man couldn't hold it any longer at the end of Snufkin's sentence and cracked up in laughter, making the kit in his arms nothing but confused for a whole minute.

   "Snufkin boy, you got a wild imagination, you know that?" he wheezed. "Still, kit, the spell your mommy put on me is permanent, it wasn't washed off."

   "Permanent?! But- But you-"

   "Shh, hey, listen, there's nothing to worry about. It's called Fondness," Joxter explained as he resumed his walk. "One day, there will be someone who will try to put that same spell on you, and – I speak out of experience – you'll try to fight it, but it'll fully take over your mind and body before you know it. Sometimes it is a good spell and it makes us feel warm and fuzzy, sometimes it's a bad one and it hurts a lot. I, personally, am addicted to it, that was why I got so mad when I heard I had to step away from it."

   "Oh.. Fondness sounds awful."

   "It really is not. Even Moominmamma and Moominpappa have put this spell on each other!"

   "They have?!"

   "Of course, that's why they're married, like I married your mother because I'm fond of her," chuckled Joxter. "She is not a witch though, and I'm certain that your baby siblings are just fine."

   The little mumrik quieted down. That didn't really make him feel better about having to go to Mymblehouse and not to Moominhouse, where his second family was; the issue there was that he and Joxter, Snufkin guessed, had both separate homes albeit being father and son, and there was no way the two of them would be happy if one forced the other to stay in one home. Joxter shouldn't force Snufkin to stay in Mymblehouse and Snufkin shouldn't force Joxter to stay in Moominhouse… but he did, didn't he? For most of the Fall (the one season the man could see his wife and children), the kit had kept his father at Moominvalley, too scared to go anywhere else or even step out of his house. 

   So they'd have to be apart from each other, Joxter and Snufkin, but not yet. To thank his father for sacrificing his time with the love of his life for meeting his son, he believed Joxter deserved Snufkin did the same thing for him. 

   "I think I don't mind going to your home then, daddy. We can go back to Moominvalley tomorrow morning when we're not cold or hungry."

   "Are you sure? You're free to do anything you like, Snufkin boy, we don't have to go if you don't want to."

   "I know I'm free," he said as he jumped off his father's arms to the ground, startling Joxter for a second (who half-screamed 'WAIT, THAT'S GRASS!'). Snufkin rubbed his feet on the grass and dirt just like Sniff had done earlier, except now he didn't even flinch, "See? I'm not afraid anymore! Not the tiniest bit afraid!"

   "YOU'RE REALLY NOT!" Joxter cheered, absolutely stunned. "That's great, Snufkin! We'll have so much fun!"

   "We will!" the young ginger boy twirled around happily with the dark haired man, kicking mud and eating raindrops, hurrahing. "I'm free!"

   "You're free!"

   "I'm a mumrik!"

   "You're a perfect mumrik kitten!"

   Snufkin giggled, letting up his whirling to glance at the parting clouds and the blue sky breaking through. He smiled from under his hat, now that he knew that meant his father wasn't gray or stormy inside anymore, and at the same time he felt his eyes water just slightly at facing the feeling he could now call Freedom. Now, Snufkin knew, too, he wasn't going to let his father or himself down – he was a mumrik and he had tasted freedom for the first time that day – he could step on grass just fine.

Chapter Text

   Joxter and Snufkin had arrived in Mymblehouse just in time for a mouth-watering mushroom bake, BUT , before they could sit and eat, the 28 mymble kids had spoken up,

   "YOU CAN'T GET FOOD BEFORE YOU GET DRY!", "Mister Joxter is so soppy I think you can have yourself for lunch as soup!", "You'll get mud all over the food!", "No eating before changing to new clothes!"

   Of course Joxter couldn't fight a soft proud chuckle of how his children had learnt one needs to be wearing clean clothes at the table back then, yet, he tried his best to convince them all that he and Snufkin didn't need a shower. His begging was unsuccessful once his wife still dragged him and his son to the bathroom attached up to her room (where the only bathtub in the house stayed, way too big to be safely used by the little mymble children). Snufkin had insisted on having his bath separately, after Joxter's, for some reason he was quite shy about. His father hadn't pushed for a justification and made sure to be quick on his shower so that the torture wouldn't last long for neither of them.

   "As soon as I'm done eating, I'm going to roll on the dirt outside and get my precious dead fish smell back," the dark haired mumrik said as he stepped out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, grumpy. "I feel like a vase of flowers."

   Quietly from behind him, the kit sneaked inside the flower-scented room for his turn, hoping not to be noticed.

   "Oh, Snufkin boy, leave your clothes outside so that your Mama Mymble can wash them later," his father noticed him anyways.

   "I will, but I'm changing them inside if that's alright," he winced without looking up.

   "That's just fine, you can just–" 

   Snufkin closed and locked the door.

   "–squeeze them through under the door?"

   And so he actually did; since the door didn't really fit properly in the hole it was supposed to – just like all the other bad quality doors in Mymblehouse – he easily passed his dirty gloves first than anything through under it. The bathroom was a small room, so the enormous bathtub, sink and toilet were all tight together (seriously, who had designed that house?), which wasn't really a problem for someone as short as Snufkin, who used this all to his advantage, climbing on the toilet lid so that he could reach the sink and, eventually, the tub. Up there, he found a cooking spoon sized teeth brush, a jar of homemade mint flavored toothpaste, another jar with some slimy oil thing, a pair of scissors for shaving and a mirror hanging on the wall in front of him. 

   His reflection greeted him with a nice surprise: visible feet, paws and, what was that, a tail?! He didn't even know he had a tail!

   When his voice had come, he'd felt it inside his throat, but he supposed he hadn't been able to feel his feet, paws and tail appearing because they were freezing before. They were here now, and what a strange thing it was that ever since Joxter had come into Snufkin's life, it looked as if broken pieces of him were finally being picked up from the ground. He saw his feet were slightly less furry than his father's and a lot more reddish-like in color (ignoring the purple shade of his toes achieved by cold) – he wondered if he'd grow fur soon – and, kicking his pants off, he was also able to see his full legs and his short orange mumrik tail (he hoped it'd grow longer like his father's soon). Quick to roll his sleeves up, the kit took some time to gaze at his paws and arms for the first time. His ginger fur was short and soft to touch, concentrated mostly between and at the tip of his fingers to hide his…

   Claws.

   Very tiny but still full-grown sharp claws that came out when he flexed his paws.

   Full-grown. Sharp. Claws.

   " Small beasts like you shouldn't have claws at all ," he mumbled distantly. The next phrase was said in his mind in a voice that made his whole body shiver, " Mumriks never do anything right. You either let me cut them off or let me put you back in your cage . We cannot have you in the sandbox with the other kids like that, can't you read the signs, you little brat? "

   He took a deep breath in and out, and another and another until his head was clear again.

   "Right. That was two years ago," his reflection told him. "There is no cage. Stepping on grass is fine. Running and shouting is fun. Claws are normal and mumriks… really do never do anything right, because that's the mumrik law. Papa Joxter said I'm a perfect mumrik kit."

   Sometimes, Snufkin wondered how he'd handle a meeting with a park keeper, any of them, if they'd shove him inside a cage like in his nightmares, clip his claws off at the base just to watch it bleed, take his voice away again or break him into even smaller pieces. None of that was happening while Joxter was there, right? With his father, he knew he'd be safe.. but what if one day he wasn't? What if one day, Joxter wasn't there for Snufkin like it had just happened? He wasn't exactly the best at defending himself or fighting, he would probably freeze and get caught.

   So he took the scissors from the sink in his shaky paws and threw it out the bathroom melon-sized window. That way, nobody would be able to trim anybody's claws.

   Smiling now, Snufkin turned his back to the mirror to bare himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to see his head yet, so it wasn't worth checking, although he did hope he could draw himself with a face one day. 

   From the other side of the door, Joxter, who was already in new clothes – identical to his usual ones Mymble had knitted just for him (Snufkin's new clothes were the result of a gone-wrong hot water washing of one of Joxter's from long ago) – tried to groom his hair back to his usual hairstyle with the back of his paw. Meanwhile, his red hat started moving around the room. That went unnoticed by the mumrik until the hat jumped in front of him at once.

   "HOLY–"

   "NOOO, MY SKIN BURNS WHEN PEOPLE SAY THAT WORD!" the hat told him, overdramatically.

   "Little My?!"

   "How did you know it was me and not an evil imp?" the red haired girl popped out from the hat. 

   "You're the only creature I know who would say such a thing," he explained. "What are you doing up here, my little mymble? Shouldn't you be downstairs having lunch with your siblings?"

   "You told me to find berries and insects for the babies, remember? I brought them a full bag of redcurrants and bugs, but since I couldn't find any of the babies, I came up here to hand you the responsibility of their starving."

   "Gee, thanks."

   Joxter had completely forgotten to tell Little My that the thirty-four mymble babies were inside their wardrobe with the Mymble's Daughter, probably napping. He couldn't go feed them before making sure Snufkin was ready to go, dressed up and groomed. Though maybe not groomed, since he wasn't sure Snufkin would ever allow him to take his hat off just to do such thing.

   "Why do you have a rope tied around your hat?" his daughter suddenly asked. "Snufkin's hat has nothing on it."

   "I like it with a rope and Snufkin doesn't, I guess. I think he'll find his own little treasures to put on his hat one day."

   "It's just a piece of rope, you can't even use it to anchor a boat, how in the world is that thing a 'treasure'?!"

   "Well, it just happens to be the most important piece of rope for me, kid."

   "Like a keepsake?" she gasped. "Snufkin loves those too! He doesn't have any, but he adores hearing Moominmamma talk about all the books Moomingrandma left her, Moominpappa talk about all the junk he got from his adventures, Moomintroll talk about each of his toys, Snorkmaiden talk about each of her shells and jewelry and Sniff talk about each of his coins… It must be a mumrik thing, because he's absolutely fascinated by objects that hold stories like this rope does."

   How interesting, Joxter thought, that Snufkin enjoyed knowing the history of things. A mumrik hat is the only possession a mumrik should get attached to because it, in a way, represents their soul. Color codes were yet to be studied among their community once no mumriks really cared about trying and finding behavior patterns, but Joxter knew his color had always been red and Snufkin's would always be green. When he was younger, he could recall beautifying his hat with anything that he found slightly compelling until he met Mymble, who beat everything and anything he decorated his hat with. After that, he kept a simple thin rope tied around it. That simple thin rope was half of a bigger thin rope that had been cut in two on the day of his marriage. Guess who had the other half tying her beautiful red hair every day? His beloved wife. 

   "Well, this rope does hold a story, though I wouldn't call it a keepsake but an union token instead," he scratched his chin. "I can't keep anything on my hat that wouldn't mean the world to me, it's placed right above my head after all."

   "An union token? That rope is a–"

   "Daddy?" a young voice coming from the bathroom snapped him out of his thoughts.

   "Yes, kit?"

   "...I forgot my towel."

   Both Joxter and Little My burst out laughing at how overly apologetic he sounded. 

   "There you go, my boy," the man managed to hand his son a towel and a clean change of clothes through above the door. After hearing a quick 'Thank you, Papa Joxter!' he looked over at Little My and whispered, "Your baby siblings are inside their wardrobe, go feed them and I'll steal a delicious pie specially for you, what do you think?"

   "Oh, you sure know how to buy me," the redhead smirked and skipped out of the room, taking a bag of 'baby food' with her. "I want it before sundown!"

   "Roger that," Joxter laughed. "Snufkin, you done? Do you want me to find you some new gloves and boots?"

   "I'm alright," the kit answered while unlocking the door and stepping out of the perfumed bathroom. "I don't think I'll need gloves or boots anymore."

   Confidently, the little boy did a twirl like Barbie princesses do when trying new clothes. First of all, Joxter seriously contemplated the thought of actually changing Snufkin's name to Joxter Junior or Little Jokes at seeing how similar he was to his son now that he was wearing his outfit. Secondly, he was also surprised to hear Snufkin didn't want to wear any gloves and boots – the man could recall seeing that kit for the first time and not actually seeing him at all because of how his skin was completely out of sight underneath anything that could mantle it – Joxter had assumed the boy was sensitive to cold or something. Lastly,

   "Your fur is orange like your mother's hair! Look at your tail! I thought you didn't have it, but that's definitely a mumrik one, and yet you got it from Mymble!" the mumrik blinked, stunned. "Did you keep your tail inside your pants this whole time?"

   "I- W- Well, those new pants have a hole for tails, mine didn't.." he made up.

   "Noted. I'm going to fix that once your clothes are washed."

   "I don't want them back."

   Oh.

   "..You're wearing boots anyway, lad, don't you remember the day Moominmamma broke a jar and nobody was able to walk in without shoes on?" the man shook his head playfully. "Besides, you're going to need them where we're going."

   "We're going somewhere?"

   "Yes, just the two of us, after lunch, off to have some mumrik fun, how does that sound?"

   "Mumrik fun?"

   "It's the fun mumriks have, of course," he winked. "But first, let me show you something, come over here."

   Excitedly, Snufkin followed his father to the edge of his mother's bed (yes, he did need help to climb it up) and watched attentively as the other seemingly untied something from around his neck. The object was hidden under Joxter's scarf until it was pulled out, revealing itself as some kind of necklace with a sharp white blade hanging from it.

   "It's a shark tooth," Joxter captioned, making Snufkin gasp in amazement. Carefully, he placed the amulet on his son's paws, "I never told anybody about this thing, so you're the first one to ever see it."

   "Really?! Not even Mama Mymble saw it?!"

   "..Alright, you got me – your mommy likes to see my chest from now and then so she's definitely seen it around my neck a few times – but you're the second creature to ever see it."

   "The second creature to ever see it.." the little boy gazed at the tooth as he let out a soft 'woah', holding it as if it was the most delicate snowflake. "Is it a keepsake of daddy's?"

   "Yes, my only and most valuable keepsake. I took it with me everywhere I went for about seven years, and I still do."

   "How did you manage to find a shark's baby tooth?"

   "This isn't a baby tooth," Joxter boasted. "I was travelling across the sea with some of my bestest friends when a furious shark attacked our boat! 'GIVE ME ALL OF YOUR FOOD,' it said, 'OR ELSE I WILL EAT IT OUT OF YOUR ENTRAILS!' and it wasn't joking!"

   "Oh no! What happened then?!"

   "The moment the shark threatened to bite me, I scrambled back in fear, accidentally hitting its face so hard its tooth fell off, and when the shark was mourning its loss, my friends pierced it with a fishing spear. That night, we had shark meat for dinner."

   Snufkin, behind his hat, was wide eyed,

   "You didn't fight?!"

   "I didn't. I was just a young mumrik back then, not very strong, fast or good with any weapons, what could I do?" he smiled. "I keep this around my neck to remember that, sometimes, it's alright to not know what to do for as long as you do something anyways. And also because it makes a fine knife for preparing meals during my trips North."

   The perplexed kit sat in silence, caressing the amulet in his paws with his thumb. Joxter took his keepsake and tied it around Snufkin's neck in a way that the boy's yellow scarf covered all of it,

   "There you go. Keep it."

   "What- But it's your most valued possession!"

   "That's why I'm giving it to you, so that it can be yours and you get to treasure it just as much as I do," the man stood up and patted the little child's green hat as if that had been all just a normal conversation and signed to the door. "Come on now, let's go have lunch. I'm so hungry I'd eat an entire shark right now!"

   Quietly, the kit followed his father downstairs, ignoring the pun as he set a paw over the place where the now his shark tooth hanged on, thinking of its fantastic tale. He'd keep it forever as a keepsake of this moment, to remember his father no matter what.

Chapter Text

   They were both so similar now.

   Wearing the same outfit, the kit could be sold as a limited-edition green-hatted small action figure of Joxter just fine. If it wasn't for the ginger fur on his tail (that he suddenly had) and the green color of his hat, one'd really mistake Snufkin for his father. 

   When the boy sat down by the table, his relationship with his siblings also mirrored Joxter's: as they plagued him with prying questions ("Were you really left on a river when you were a baby? Did you drown?", "Was Mama Mymble the one to do it? Do you remember anything?", "Are you really a mumrik like Mister Joxter is?", "Where did the river take you?"), occasional poking and attempts to pull up his hat to see his covered face, Snufkin still seemed to get along well with them, patiently making sure he answered each one of his small siblings while helping Little My feed his even smaller thirty-four ones. He had grown protective of them somehow, it was easily shown off, just like Joxter had in his first day around Mymble's kids.

   The Big Mymble could see their similarities as they ate, spoke, walked, drank, breathed, everything , even the synchronized swinging of their tails behind them. She giggled to herself as her mind pictured a grown-up Snufkin married to a creature thrice his own size. Her smile faltered while picturing that same adult Snufkin lost deep in a mumrik trance like the ones Joxter had, starving himself to look after his future children. Frowning then, she wondered if that kit would truly grow up to be the bastard cat dad Joxter was, someone who would give up on everything and anything to be with his kids, loving all his loved ones far too much for his own good. Back at her bedroom, she'd never seen her husband look so awful and the last thing she wanted was for Snufkin to have those same issues.

   But what could she do about it? Mymble barely managed to comfort her own beloved one, how in the world was she supposed to prevent a kit she hardly knew from getting hurt? Not even her kids had ever received any warning from her, mymble genes and years of negligent parenting bringing up an uncrossable barrier between them and the Big Mymble to the point where reading them a complete story book before bed time was impossible due to distraction and disinterest from both the mother and the children. 

   The woman had no solid bond with her kids, pretty much the opposite of Joxter's case.

   Joxter could do it all right. Mymble couldn't, she didn't know how to hear or to be heard. She couldn't do it the mumrik way.

   But she could try. If there was one thing that had been decided was that Joxter would make an effort, that day, to parent Snufkin the way a mymble would, and of course he'd cheat and twist the whole point to his advantage (Mymble knew him far too well not to notice the way he seemed to avoid looking at her in the eyes, meaning that sneaky rascal had a plan up his sleeve for convincing Snufkin to stay by his side), but he'd surely try his best. Nothing stopped her from doing the same and switching her parenting style a little for the special lost and found kit, right? It couldn't be that hard – a mumrik parent just has to talk and talk and teach and teach and boss around!

   "Alright, little ones," the dark haired mumrik called out as soon as the plates, cups and bowls over the table were cleared. "Stop bothering your brother, he needs some space. Thank your mother for the delicious food and go brush your teeth in the garden."

   See? That's how mumrik parents were.

   "Sorry, Snufkin. Thanks, Mama Mymble!", "I'm sorry, Snufkin. Thank you, mommy!", "Mister Joxter, mommy used my toothbrush as a whisk to cook lunch!", "Sorry, bro. Thank you, Mama!" they jumped off their seats and rushed outside, each taking their own little handmade stick toothbrushes and jars of improvised toothpaste made of mashed perfumed leaves. 

   Leaving after her kids, the man took the thirty-four babies nestled up in a baby sling he had rigged up from the used tablecloth (one needs to know the art of make-doing in Mymblehouse) so that he could burp them one by one while watching the others. There the amusing side of mumrik parenting was! Wasn't he such a wonderful father? Not to mention that his initiative to drag everyone out the kitchen was for taking care of Snufkin, who seemed really troubled with the previous conversation subject right then; the ginger boy was standing still, clutching at his scarf firmly as his tail curled around his left leg.

   How awkward, you'd think, a mother and a son staring at each other a few feet away in silence, but Mymble found it slightly threatening that she felt him glare though she could not see his eyes.

   "Why did you do it?" he asked unexpectedly, voice cracking in a heartbreaking way that showed he wasn't far from tearing up. "I don't understand. Papa Joxter told me he loved me the second he knew I existed, but you dumped me on a river the second you knew I existed. Do you not love me, mommy?"

   Using all of her best knowledge of motherhood, after some effortful cold-sweating time, the Big Mymble was able to conclude that this question required a serious answer. Now, what would his father say?

   "Of course I do love you, darling. I didn't dump you on the river, I sent you on it, hoping you'd get to your father, who'd be more than eager to raise you better than I would ever do," she kept the most serious tone she was able to, although her mouth involuntarily curled up into a love-struck and distant smile as she continued. "Me and your daddy used to send each other messages through the flow, folded paper with red calligraphy on it tucked inside little bark boats – they're very romantic, you know? I don't think your father remembers any of that anymore though, too worried, too stressed… But in my head, it really did make sense for him to find you and know straight up the sender was me."

   Snufkin thought for a while, relaxing a bit on his unbalanced chair before questioning again, softly this time,

   "Does that mean you actually keep me in your heart just like daddy does?"

   "No," his mother replied so abruptly she startled her son. "I don't keep anything inside my heart aside from my natural love for swinging on the swingers with fine men."

   "But- But Papa Joxter told me you should always carry all the ones you love the most safely with you!"

   "Joxter is not always right, my son. He might be a wise man, but sometimes he still makes mistakes. His terrible tendency for homing everyone inside his heart, for example, is a grave mistake of his. How does a heart pump blood if it's filled with creatures?"

   The kit stood up, scoffing in disbelief,

   "Daddy keeps you in his heart, and you, who has the biggest heart, doesn't keep a single thing inside it!"

   Well, maybe Mymble was really no good at doing it 'the mumrik way'. That conversation only had the boy even more upset and now the redhead woman was too. She crossed her arms childishly,

   "I really don't! Do you even know how heavy and tiring it must be? Joxter is lucky he has such an elastic heart, but others would have it broken by now!"

   At that, he winced and quieted down, probably picturing the whole thing to himself. Wrapping his arms around his own body, before Mymble could reconsider that there was a chance she shouldn't have spoken of that, he murmured,

   "Do hearts break? How is that possible?"

   Biting on her own lip on regret, the mymble took a deep breath in and told him,

   "It's just as possible as letting the wrong creature inside of it – you never know which beast might be a far-too-heavy responsibility for you – tales from all around tell tragic love stories of people who made that same mistake and ended up heartbroken. That's why one builds walls around their core, securely, so that nobody gets through."

   "What about Papa Joxter? He is your husband and he's not that heavy!"

   "Joxter, he is the man I love the most, that's why he is the last creature I'd ever allow inside my heart. You'll understand one day for sure, for now I'm only going to tell you: the farther one is from their heart-inhabitant, the more it aches, and the longer one keeps their heart-inhabitant locked in, the more it'll hurt to try and get it out one day when it is needed," she wasn't going to say she heard that from her grandmother, that old woman was diagnosed crazy. "And it will be needed because, you see, people don't live forever and sometimes you have to let go of someone who isn't there anymore."

   Goodness, now Mymble was having flashbacks of her talks with Joxter, 3AM whispered conversations about wandering subjects – the Muddler, his Freedom, her men, the children, his love for her and her love for him – Snufkin was, incredibly, as similar to his father as to bring up similar matters. The redhead felt like every single word she was using now for that young mumrik had been used before for another young mumrik whom she had married, which was genuinely an unbelievable thing. 

   "Do you get it, my child? If I put your daddy inside my heart, I don't know if I'd ever be able to get him out and that could be very bad in the future."

   "I think I understand," he said sadly. After a long, long minute, he brang up, "How much does Freedom weigh? Daddy carries a lot of it with him."

   "Oh, I don't know, my darling, that's a thing you'll have to see for yourself," the woman stood up, pointed to the window, through which Snufkin was able to see his father (who seemed to be having a hard time pulling a postman away from the kids), and chuckled, "but, being a mumrik, you might have it inside you already, running in your blood and soul somewhere."

   Wait, there was something missing.

   "GO OUTSIDE AND TELL YOUR FATHER TO LET YOUR SIBLINGS HAVE THEIR DESSERT!" there it was, the 'bossing around' part of the mumrik parenting. Nailed it! "Take them a knife, please, that might be handy too."

Chapter Text

   "Papa Joxter?"

   "Yes, kit?"

   "Every Fall, you go back to Mymblehouse to mommy and my siblings," he watched the clouds up in the sky float away the opposite direction of where he and his father were going, to Moominvalley without him. "Is that because it aches to be apart from them?"

   Joxter wasn't always right, that was something Snufkin found extremely hard to believe, but there was a way of checking its genuinity. Mymble was way older than her husband and had many kids from different parents, therefore if a creature knew anything about love life, it should be her; still, the boy didn't trust his mother much and the last thing he wanted to believe in was that hearts break. Nobody wants to believe that, to be honest, nobody wants to think of how much it would hurt to have it broken. So if the Big Mymble really was being truthful about Joxter's luck, the man himself was the only proof.

   "What a strange question... But yes, I'd say so, it would pain me awfully to miss an autumn visit," the dark haired mumrik replied on his walk down the hill, not really looking down at his son. "It might be because of the whole Fondness thing."

   It was true then, that it did ache for one to be away from a creature kept in their heart (he wondered how badly it would hurt to be this far from Moominvalley if he kept Moomintroll within his core). Regardless of the fact Mymble might have been telling the truth, Snufkin wasn't one to give up that easily and there was still another thing to confirm: the more you love someone, the harder it supposedly is to detach them from your heart.

   "Is there any way you could, somehow, stop loving Mama Mymble and my siblings?"

   "What the- No, certainly not! Once in my heart, there's no way out, and you are included," however, this time, Joxter turned and frowned at the ginger child, examining Snufkin's body language for any sign of bad emotions embodying the previous question. Upon finding an expectant slow-swinging red tail and slightly tense shoulders the man seemed to have assumed the issue was something else entirely, sighing and affirming, "In case all of these weird questions are about going back to Moominvalley, little one, all you need to know is that, wherever we both go, I will still love you, your mommy and your siblings like I always have. But right now, we'll have some fun, alright? We'll talk about that as soon as we're done."

   That did answer a bit more than what Snufkin wanted it to – it was obvious now that his mother was right once it looked as if Joxter would never even try to take anyone out of his heart – and to avoid worrying too much about the dangerous situation his father was in, he convinced himself that Mymble was very right when she told him Joxter's heart was incredibly (and luckily) elastic, too.

   "There it is!" Joxter suddenly stopped, putting both of the mumriks' thoughts on hold. "Can you smell our goal?"

   A tad confused, Snufkin sniffled the air searching for whatever special scent there was aside from the one of the humid soil they left boot footprints on, finding then a hint of.. a pleasant strawberry fragrance coming from a lovely cottage's chimney not far from their spot, with colorful flower gardens under their front windows. Strawberry pie, almost as addicting-smelling as Mymble's mushroom bake, he noted. 

   "Come over here, Snufkin boy," called his dad, taking off his own scarf to wrap it around the other's recently shown tail in a decent bow before licking the back of his dark paw to brush the messy red fur until it looked shiny and polite. "This is our plan, hear it carefully: you are going to pretend you are very tired and hungry so that whoever owns that house let's you in. You're supposed to keep their attention on you so that I can go inside too without them seeing me and grab that pie."

   "Isn't that stealing?"

   "It's called mumrik fun. Though you must keep your species a secret during this game, some creatures can be very biased against us and I don't want you to get in trouble, alright?"

   Shrugging off his previous worries completely, Snufkin set his mind into the act, scampering over to the flowery place and knocking twice on the blue painted wooden door, which had it opened by a tall hemulen wearing a gardener suit and oven gloves. At his first glance, the stranger scowled in disgust,

   "A mumrik spawn?!" but as soon as his eyes landed on the very clean boots on the visitor's feet and the very pretty bow on his well-brushed ginger tail, he let a relieved breath out, "How silly of me, all small beasts should have bows in their tails, all except for mumriks, who don't follow a single rule! I'm sorry about that, my good cub. Where are your parents?"

   "I've no idea, I have gotten myself lost in the woods, oh, poor me," Snufkin fought hard not to laugh, pretending instead to sob and wipe imaginary tears. "So hungry and tired, all alone in the cold!"

   "Goodness, come in, come in, I'll get you something nice and warm to drink!" 

   As the boy entered the house, cautiously making his way to sit by the table, the gardener went to fetch him some food, boldly forgetting the door open (what a huge mistake), through which Joxter smoothly sneaked inside to hide behind the chair Snufkin was on and whisper him,

   "Good job, kit! Now I need you to get him to face away from the kitchen."

   Nodding, the young mumrik analysed his surroundings. The kitchen was itself the living room and the dining room at the same time, he observed, so the only way he could drag the hemulen's attention somewhere else was to leave that room. That was why he stood up and darted off further into the place as soon as he'd been handed a mug of hot cocoa milk. Snufkin guessed it wasn't exactly a house for two, because there was only one other room, containing a single bed and a drawer – the walls were littered with pictures though, cut outs from newspapers, paper notes and dozens of flowers pinned down with various red strings connecting one thing and another, making it hard to actually feel alone. In the very center of the whole brainmap, there was an old sign with Joxter's smirk on it, reading "WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE" with gold and silver rewards.

   "Oh, those are what I use for predicting mumrik activity," explained the man, stepping inside his bedroom not long after the boy. "I plan on taking my flowers somewhere else, a large garden perhaps, surrounded with a fence so that nobody is able to touch it. It needs to be placed somewhere free from those pests."

   That sounded awfully familiar, a fenced garden with only one person allowed to enter it and absolutely no mumriks – awfully in a bad way, so bad it got Snufkin's fur to bristle as he held tighter on the warm mug – a park, whose future park keeper was right there by his side.

   "What even are they?" he spat. "Big scary beasts from underwater? Monsters that hide in our closets? Murderers or serial killers?"

   "No, no, none of that, I've heard they're even worse. They have fangs made to sink into flesh, claws sharp as knives and needle-like eyes that glow in the dark," the gardener explained, as if telling a horror story, unaware of how much it all sounded like a new toy ad. "Mumriks creep out at night doing mischief, when you're least expecting, they're there behind you, ready to destroy anything you worked hard to make perfect. Sly creatures, indeed, nearly impossible to capture."

   With an invisible glower on his face, Snufkin bit at the inside of his cheeks to avoid snarling at the man,

   "Do you ever wonder why they do such 'terrible' things?!"

   "Not really. I think they must be full of hate and darkness, born as spiteful devils. One thing I do wonder is how they keep reproducing if they barely have emotions, how come their spawns don't end up dumped in rivers?"

   Now that was the last straw. The kit was holding on the mug so strongly he felt his paws burn, claws fully out scratching the porcelain causing an unbearable high-pitched noise as his tail swinged hard enough to unmake the yellow bow into a simple knot. He did feel like a creature full of hate right then, but that didn't mean that hemulen had any correct thoughts on his species, it was pretty much the opposite! Mumriks were wise and kind beasts who fought for the right of freedom, organizing riots in parks, zoos, living galleries, jails and orphanages as the newspapers on the walls wrote.

   "Look around, would you?! You have your bedroom walls covered in loathing, you wake up to that every single day! Your words are spelled out of hatred and yet you speak of us mumriks as if we were evil and disrespectful!" Snufkin burst out. "It's no wonder this war keeps going: you park keepers are always so selfish you don't ever think about why mumriks do all of that!"

   It looked as though the house owner hasn't heard a single thing, lowering down at the suddenly incredibly small boy, 

   "You are a mumrik spawn."

   "It's called a mumrik kitten ," the redhead replied in a sassy tone, though his confidence was slipping off as he retreated in rising fear.

   "How dare you invade my home, sit on my chair without asking, scratch my most beautiful mug ugly, step with your filthy feet on my bedroom floor and tell me I am wrong while doing everything I just listed that mumriks do?"

   "I was invited in!"

   "Yeah? Well, let me invite you in a nice cage in the jail, you vile hooligan," the hemulen sibilanted, eclipsing his visitor with the purpose to grab him whatever direction he could possibly try and escape through. "Later on, tell me if your parents raised you like good parents do or if you were actually abandoned at birth. Am I wrong? Because you seem like you're all alone."

   Snufkin scrambled back until he met the wall, disrupting some of the red strings, which led the Joxter picture to fall out and land by his feet. No, that villain wasn't wrong, not about that. As a baby, his mother sent him off with the flow without caring about whether he'd drown or get hurt, and not until that year had his father noticed his absence; how was that not a sign of him truly having been born as an insignificant disdainful thing? Feeling his whole body shiver its colors out, just about to lose the sight of himself again, he stared at the wanted sign on the ground, remembering Joxter was not only outside waiting for him but also inside – not his heart, hearts were made for pumping blood – his shark tooth amulet. "It is alright to be scared," it reminded him, "as long as you do something anyways".

   "I'll tell you: I am a mumrik kitten and both my parents love me a lot, even though my mommy wouldn't care if I was gone (she's got it safe for her once she doesn't keep me in her heart, that is) and my daddy hadn't known about my existence for a long time," Snufkin affirmed before his voice box had a chance to disappear once more. "I have fangs and claws made to defend myself from people like you, sly creatures who think are stronger than me.

   But most of all, I am not alone."

   In a swift, smart move, the little boy threw the oh-so-beautiful mug full of the scalding liquid at the man's face as he quickly slided out of his reach, running without looking back until he passed through the front door. There, he stopped to look at the garden the gardener worked hard to make perfect and decided to destroy it, taking a few of the prettiest ones in a fast-prepared bouquet with him and crushing the remaining ones under his 'filthy feet'.

   "That's the spirit, my boy!" Joxter called, not far from where his son stood.

   "SABOTAGE! I'M CALLING THE POLICE!" they heard from inside the house. "YOU HIDEOUS, HORRID KITTEN! Damn it, 'kitten' doesn't even sound threatening!"

   "COME, COME, COME, SNUFKIN BOY, COME ON! JUMP!" the dark haired man crouched down while running away, just enough so that Snufkin could jump and safely do the rest of the escape on a piggyback ride like they have done previously that morning once Joxter's legs were way stronger (he'd take the child in his arms, but they were occupied with an entire strawberry pie). "WOO-HOO!"

   "We did it, Papa!"

   "And what wonderful flowers it is that you got yourself! They're your trophy, kit, all yours. I'm so proud of you!"

   The boy giggled, also proud of himself, and lifted his paw to the hemulen, who had just left his dusty cottage to curse at the mumriks, making a sign with his fingers that translated as,

   'Little My!'

   "Why did you sign Little My's name to that guy?"

   "..Daddy, that sign is not Little My's name. Little My's name is:" he mimicked holding a kettle of tea, for that was where his sister usually slept. "Has nobody told you what the pinching sign means?"

   The kit proceeded to whisper the real meaning of the pinching fingers sign on his father's ear, so they both laughed and laughed and laughed until their cheeks hurt and they had to stop somewhere safe inside the woods to avoid getting their stomachs to ache too. 

   "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could do things like that every day, you and me?" Joxter put his son down on the ground, a bit calmer, smiling compassionately. "You don't hate your mommy and your siblings anymore, do you? Just imagine, Snufkin, how your days would be like up in Mymblehouse: morning naps under the sun, mushroom bakes for lunch, mumrik fun for dessert, playing with your siblings until nightfall.. Doesn't that sound great?"

   Goodness, he'd forgotten they'd eventually have to talk about that one thing, that he and his dad lived in two separate homes. Staying in Mymblehouse was no option for Snufkin, who already felt half-attached to all of his little brothers and sisters and could not in any circumstances risk to let so many people through his core doors, having been warned by his Mama Mymble to keep it well locked up. If he stayed, he wasn't sure he'd manage not to get into the "big brother" role and straight up bet his life on all of those cute little kids. But staying in Moominhouse was no option for Joxter, Snufkin knew, because his heart had every single one of his kids and wife – staying away from them for too long could destroy his most important organ. That was like a life or death situation for each of them.

   "It does sound great, but what about getting Moominmamma's hugs, hearing Moominpappa's stories, helping Snorkmaiden organize her shell collection and Sniff count his pennies, and.. and Moomintroll in general?" Snufkin looked at the flowers he cradled, thinking of the ones in Moominhouse's garden. "They're important. Like family. I can't- I cannot leave them for my actual family."

   "Sometimes we're closer to friends than we are to family, I understand," the man muttered. "However, it is quite the opposite to me, you see, I can't leave my family for my friends." He took a deep breath before questioning, "For Tove's sake, how are we going to solve this out? Snufkin, I'm so sorr– I mean, I'm- I missed eleven years out of your life. And now I don't think I'll ever be able to make up for it, to take you on early trips and teach you how to hunt or murder or camp. 

   I don't mean to dump all of this on you. I really don't. Yet, it is your decision to make. You stay, or you go, and I won't be mad if you decide to go, just know that I- I would go back in time and search for your floating basket down the whole river to make sure I'd keep you by my side."

   What that helpless mumrik was trying to say was that he was sorry. The kit caught the message, it wasn't difficult to recognize Joxter dreaded the fact he'd realized that Snufkin had ..another father and another mother who just happened to have found him first. It wasn't anybody's fault, and yet, Joxter still blamed himself, Snufkin still blamed Mymble and he was sure Mymble still blamed him for having made her husband 'too worried, too stressed' or for having been born, entirely.

   A tricky thing it was, indeed, to be in charge of what happens next. Snufkin pondered and came to the conclusion that, no matter what option it was that he chose, it would be the wrong one and he'd hurt either himself or his dad, which meant the only way to solve this was to create another option, but how? The kit perked up,

   "Those yearly trips mumriks do, do they have to be like yours? Leaving in the Spring and coming back in the Fall?"

   "Of course not, if it was, no mumrik would follow it. You leave for your yearly trip whenever you want to and without permission, take as much time as you like, and come back on a special day."

   "Papa, I think I have an idea."