Chapter Text
"A man who leaves home to mend himself and others is a philosopher;
but he who goes from country to country, guided by the blind impulse of curiosity, is only a vagabond."
Oliver Goldsmith, The Citizen of the World
"Tell Moomintroll you're canceling the boat trip," Snorkmaiden demanded.
Facing the river, Snufkin sat motionless holding his rod as he turned this over in his mind. Snorkmaiden came to see him in particular, a thing she didn't often do. She came to ask him to cancel the boat trip. The one he was to take with Moomintroll this Thursday to go fishing. What did she care about it? Perhaps she was hurt they hadn't invited her along. But Snorkmaiden only joined fishing outings to sunbathe, and where they planned to go was deep in the woods, without much sun to speak of. So that couldn't be it.
She and Moomintroll must have rowed. That seemed most probable. Then, for Moomintroll's sake, he ought to help smooth things over. While keeping his nose out of their business for his own.
"Okay," he said.
The tight crease in her brow ironed out in an instant. "Really?" she said, sounding more like her normal self. "Just like that?"
He nodded once. "Consider it canceled."
"Don't you need to ask Moomintroll?"
"It's a long spring. We'll reschedule." Snufkin let his eyes cross lazily as golden afternoon sunlight sparkled on the water. The river that cut through Moominvalley was shallow and sluggish, except when it rained, and then it swelled into a sea serpent. He liked to set his tent right where it divided Moominhouse and the ocean. From one side came the pleasant domestic noises of the family going about their business, while from the other just enough of the sea breeze made it through the poplars to remind him of what lay beyond.
Even though she'd gotten her answer, Snorkmaiden continued to shuffle around behind him. "Aren't... aren't you angry with me?" she blurted out at last.
Snufkin's mind was still on the river. He looked over at her in genuine confusion. "Angry? Why?"
"Be - because I made you cancel your trip."
He didn't so much as blink. "But you didn't. I called it off on my own."
"Yes, because I asked you to," she said, enunciating each word as if that would somehow demystify whatever word game she was playing. She thought he was having her on, he realized. Being deliberately dense.
"You asked," he agreed. "And I said yes."
"But don't you think you shouldn't have to cancel your trip just because I asked?"
"I don't have to."
"Alright, fine, you don't have to, but I shouldn't even ask, should I? It puts you in an awful position. You either need to disappoint me, or disappoint Moomintroll."
"Like I said," he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in the grass, the rod tucked carelessly between his knees. "We'll reschedule. The fish aren't going anywhere."
Snorkmaiden was silent for a moment. "But don't you at least want to know why I asked you to cancel?" she asked, tone almost wistful.
Snufkin plucked a long strand of grass and bit it between his teeth to conceal his frown. Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden's relationship was messy, and they were forever wanting to involve him in one way or another. Moomintroll he could almost understand; they were best friends, and he supposed it was normal to talk to one's best friend about all sorts of matters, even romantic ones.
Snorkmaiden, though - her usual confidante when it came to her love life was the Mymble's daughter. (Was it the wisest choice? Well, Snufkin didn't think he was the best judge of that.) He couldn't understand why she bothered to talk to him as well. And she always went about it in this inscrutable way, with questions upon questions.
It was almost as if she wanted him to be upset with her.
"Well," he said, drawing a long breath, "you want to tell me, and I don't mind listening. Why do you want me to cancel the trip, Snorkmaiden?"
She threw up her paws. "Ugh, never mind. You're worse than Moomintroll." And she left.
Snufkin chewed the grass thoughtfully. Then he pulled his hat down and closed his eyes.
Whatever trouble Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden were having, it had nothing to do with him.
It still had nothing to do with him hours later, when Moomintroll came stomping over the bridge to his campsite.
Snufkin was "in" for the night, although he had no intention of staying in. The valley lay on the cusp of waking in the spring thaw, and there was such a lot to see that slept when the sun was out. He'd nap for a while, eat something quick, and then lose himself in the woods behind Moominhouse.
The weather was cool but not cold. Tempted by the glitter of the stars in the twilit sky, Snufkin rolled out his sleeping bag on the ground outside his tent. He slid his legs in and leaned his back against a log, making a cozy nest. He played an absent little tune on his mouth-organ as he watched the sky card through different shades of blue and violet.
The view was obscured by Moomintroll's broad snout looming over him. Though he kept his arms hidden behind his back, Snufkin noted the way his tail lashed behind him, always a dead give-away that his friend was upset.
He laid the mouth-organ in his lap and lifted his brow.
There were no opening pleasantries - Moomintroll cut straight to the chase. "How could you call off the boat trip without asking me?" he demanded in a manner quite similar to Snorkmaiden - as if expecting to quarrel.
Snufkin paused to consider his reply. Which bothered Moomintroll more, that the trip had been canceled or that he'd made the decision on his own? "It was Snorkmaiden's request," he said in the end.
"So? Since when does she decide when we do things together?"
"I decided it." It took more effort than normal to stamp the exasperation out of his voice. "A friend asked me for something. I had no reason to say no."
Moomintroll bristled. "No reason to say no?" he repeated, and oh dear, he sounded hurt. "What about it being our first trip of the year, just the two of us? We always take one at the start of spring. That's not a good reason?"
"But Moomin, we'll still go on our trip," Snufkin protested. "We only picked Thursday because your father lent the boat to Wimsy until then. We can go anytime. When doesn't matter."
"I see." With a dull look, Moomintroll let his arms drop. "Later's just as good as sooner, is it."
Wordlessly, Snufkin nodded. It was the truth, so why did he feel like he was giving all the wrong answers?
He tried a different tactic.
"What about Snorkmaiden? Have you talked to her about why she doesn't want us to go?"
"Oh, she's on about some picnic she's planned," Moomintroll answered with a huff. Then his ears flicked back. "Wait a minute, you canceled the trip without even knowing why?"
Snufkin started. "It... didn't seem relevant."
Silence fell, tense and uneasy Snufkin squirmed, wishing he were standing, or that Moomintroll would sit. He didn't like the way his friend looked at him, like he was a thoughtless child, one who had made the same mistake so often people were beginning to suspect it was deliberate. Many, many years had gone by since he'd last seen such a look.
"Alright," he heard himself saying, "if it's that important to you, we'll go on Thursday."
"Imagine how you'd feel," Moomintroll said crossly, "if I broke off plans with you and said I'd done it for no reason."
"You cancel plans with me all the time," Snufkin said, but Moomintroll's counter came swift.
"Yes, for real reasons! Someone's sick, or my folks need my help, or the weather's bad - maybe not bad enough for you, but enough that Mamma won't let me go - stuff we can't control, that's out of our paws! Not because any random person asks me to cancel and I don't even care to find out why."
"Not any random person. Your girlfriend," Snufkin retorted.
This seemed to need pointing out. But Moomintroll recoiled as if Snufkin had raised his voice, or slammed a door in his face. Snufkin lost his temper only rarely. And he wasn't angry now - only, perhaps, a bit annoyed. Confused. Moomintroll never used to confuse him. In fact, he'd even flattered himself that no one knew his friend better, except perhaps his mother.
His head tipped down. "Well?" he asked. "Doesn't what she wants matter?"
There was another pause. From beneath his hat he saw Moomintroll's body shift, and a white paw appeared and lifted the brim. In a very gentle voice, Moomintroll said, "What you want matters to me too."
Snufkin glanced at him. There was something there - a flicker of an emotion behind his eyes, which were the same striking blue as forget-me-nots. Something that was soft and tender that he almost recognized. But there was also a certain edge, a wariness to it that was hard to account for.
Snufkin didn't know how to answer that look. He didn't want to think what it might mean. In the past, a friendly grin of his own had been all that was necessary to put it to rest, but now the urge to escape itched at him, to zip his tent shut behind him and vanish deep into the forest. He kept his face carefully blank.
"Good," he forced out. "What I want is for the two of you to get along. We'll reschedule the trip and everyone will be happy."
Moomintroll let go of his hat. The sudden movement sent it sliding down his nose, and by the time he'd adjusted it his friend was already heading back to the house, pausing only to call "Good-night, Snufkin" over his shoulder when he reached the postbox.
Snufkin gave a half-hearted wave. Then his paw fell slack at his side.
Just go away. The familiar thought, generally reserved for busybodies and police, flitted through his head, Almost never had it been directed at Moomintroll.
Night fell, black as ink. The river gurgled as it flowed, unhurried, to the sea, and Snufkin wrapped himself in his sleeping bag and stared into the void of the moonless sky.
He tried to forget about the scene with Moomintroll. To push away its strangeness, its sense of straddling the border of neither here nor there. It took some time. He had to give in and let himself be angry, no matter how irrational it was, and then sad, before he finally felt the release, and began to approach something more like his usual calm.
He played a mindless tune on his mouth-organ.
Innocent words could be only that. Or they could be a test, aiming to provoke, detect the structural weaknesses and take advantage.
Snufkin loved word games when he understood the rules. He liked to script his own riddles. But for today, he'd had his fill of them.
Finally he managed to shift his mind away from the people in Moominvalley. Instead he focused only on the things that grew in it.
Kicking out from his sleeping bag, he grabbed his rucksack and took off into the woods without stopping to eat. There were bad habits one fell into in the valley, such as eating three times a day, and sleeping at night. He was a snufkin - he ate when he was hungry and slept when he was tired. The forest was calling.
He ran to it with his heart singing.
It was a new moon and he was alone in the woods. He could see well at night, but without any light at all anyone would struggle. Still he didn't light his lamp. He walked with slow steps through the enveloping darkness, trusting it completely. His fingers felt their way over smooth birchwood and rough oak. The noise of a small creature skittering by caught his ears; further on he could hear the rush of a narrow stream. One time he felt someone slink between his legs whose fur was thick and silky. An owl gave a hoot; someone else chittered in response, perhaps to say "be quiet, we are trying to hunt!"
The forest didn't sleep.
I am home, Snufkin thought, smiling because he was happy. An image of a tall blue house with a weathervane twisting in the breeze arose in his mind's eye, unbidden, and the smile faltered. I'm not thinking about him now, he told himself strictly. He's got his life and I've got mine. And what comes later... comes later.
After hiking for a couple hours, he was on the verge of lighting his lantern and taking a break when from the corner of his eye he saw a dull glow. It was low to the ground, almost lost within the undergrowth. Snufkin got down on his stomach and wiggled through dirt and pine needles, the ground still damp from the early spring rains. The glow expanded, becoming more vibrant, and he reached out to lift a rotting log.
What he saw made his lips split in a grin. Quite some time had passed since he'd last come across a wonder like this. The conditions were perfect - a new moon, an abundance of fallen branches, and a wonderfully mild temperature. This was the magic of the forest at its height. Snufkin loved it, he loved it, and he knew Moomintroll would love it too when he showed him.
Will he want to be shown?
He'd almost forgotten they were in a fight. Snufkin rocked back on his heels and chewed his lip. When Moomintroll fell into a sour mood, he didn't like any of the usual things. Not fishing, or swimming, or telling stories. No one could sulk quite like a moomin, or so Snufkin believed. And if he went to him now, it might be inviting a very unwelcome reenactment of earlier.
On the other hand, this was all making a mountain out of a mole hill. He and Moomintroll would reconcile. Every now and then things between them hit a flat note, and they fell out of rhythm with each other, but they always picked it up again. Snufkin didn't like to stew over such things. Moomintroll always thought about them too much, over and over until he found himself in the exact opposite place of where he'd started. Snufkin would rather put the painful thing in its proper place in the back of his mind as soon as possible.
"What you want matters to me too," Moomintroll had said.
Well, now was as good a time as any to find out if he really meant it.
Moomintroll couldn't sleep. The mattress was old, that explained it. Over the years the stuffing had flattened and the springs had lost their springiness, until he could feel the bed boards against his back. And he'd outgrown it too; often he woke up with arms and legs, not to mention tail, dangling over the edge. Tomorrow he'd see about asking Moominpappa for help making a new bed that could fit more of him. If none of the mattresses were the right size, they could pack the gap with extra blankets.
Of course, if he didn't catch a few hours of sleep, he'd be too tired for carpentry. He squeezed his eyes shut and tugged the eiderdown over his face.
But his treacherous mind raced. Somehow he'd managed to upset both of his closest friends in one day. That had to be a record.
Snorkmaiden - well, it wasn't nice to say, but really she'd brought it on herself. What did she think would happen when she stuck her nose in his business? Making demands of Snufkin just because she knew he'd give in? And Snufkin - didn't he think it was odd that Snorkmaiden asked him to call off the trip and not Moomintroll? Couldn't he tell she'd played him like a fiddle? Snufkin wasn't usually slow on the uptake. Maybe he knew, and just didn't care.
At least, that was the version of events Moomintroll settled on while tossing and turning in bed for hours. Every position had something wrong with it; his hip ached if he lay on his side, and his tail complained of smothering when he rolled on his back. The room was too dark, too musty, how did he manage to stay asleep here all winter, it seemed impossible...
A light rap on his window sent him bolting up and throwing off the blanket in an instant. As soon as he saw a pair of paws in knit fingerless gloves pressed against the glass, his heart leapt. It was instinctual; he couldn't control his joy any more than he could control the flutter in his ears or the twitch in his tail. A whistle or a knock in the middle of the night meant adventure and camaraderie, the doorway to a private world where anything could happen.
But of course it was only a moment before more recent events came crashing back to him. He waffled in the shadowy room. By the Groke, he wasn't a little child anymore, who dropped all else at his friend's call to fly to his side. No, he'd take his time, open the window when he felt good and ready. Besides, it wouldn't hurt Snufkin to sweat a little.
The knocking returned every so often, like a bird making a fuss on the sill, offended to find a glass wall where it expected an easy entrance. After a couple minutes, he took a match and lit the candle by his bedside. Pushing the window latch, he leaned out casually, as if he just happened to decide to look at the stars that very moment.
"Oh, hello," he said, finding Snufkin's face very close. The candle flame leapt in the reflection of one large, dark eye.
"Hello," came the response in his friend's languid voice. "Up for a quest?"
Moomintroll's ears did indeed flutter, but he tried to feign indifference anyway. "Well, I don't know... it's late, and there's no moon."
"Oh, I suppose," said Snufkin. Moomintroll got the impression that he was annoyed. Do you expect me to beg? his tone seemed to say. With an anxious pang, he wondered if he'd pushed his luck, if his friend would slip back into the night now like some skittish wild animal.
But Snufkin spoke again. "Some things only reveal themselves in the dark," he went on softly.
"What sort of things?"
"Come with me and see."
The dancing candelight bent across his grin in a wicked slant. And Moomintroll was enthralled.
Just like that, he abandoned his plan to be cool and aloof and grown-up, and what a relief it was. "Let's go," he said excitedly.
"Go down the stairs. It's so dark even I had trouble with the ladder," Snufkin cautioned.
"You too, then." Setting the candle to the side, Moomintroll locked his arms under Snufkin's and hauled him through the window. Snufkin's boot caught on the ledge and he squeaked before they fell in a heap on the floor. For a minute they lay there, listening - but no one in the house stirred. Then, with a shared, secret grin, they scrambled down the stairs, pausing only to light a lantern, and went out the front door, their ringing laughter swallowed by the dark.
The woods at night gave one the impression of spooks and specters. In his head, Moomintroll knew these were the same trees he played in during the day, the same trails he hiked with his friends. But still his blood pumped faster and his fur stood on end as the forest closed in around him like a phantom world. In the pitch black he lost his sense of direction, but Snufkin's paw held his fast, warm and firm, leading him onward with that familiar, comforting surety.
There was nothing like the thrill of the unknown to make one feel alive.
They walked for a while, not talking much. Though Snufkin could find much to distract him in nature, he looked ahead with single-minded purpose, his free paw thrust in front of him to feel his way through the branches and shrubs. He'd put his lantern away, saying he'd have better luck remembering the path by touch. Moomintroll kept his own so that he didn't end their escapade early by tripping and breaking a bone.
A quest, Snufkin had called it. He wondered what they were questing for. One could never tell. With Snufkin, it was just as likely to be a funny-looking tree stump as a cave full of jewels.
He stumbled over the uneven earth, trudging downhill and uphill, until at last Snufkin brought them to a halt. He shifted around, bending to his knees, and then Moomintroll felt a press of his paw. "Alright, Moomintroll, put out your lantern for now," he instructed. "It will be easier to see without any light at all."
"Are you sure?" Moomintroll lowered the lantern reluctantly.
"Don't be afraid. There's nothing fearsome in these woods. And if there was, I'd have you put out the light anyway, or it would draw them right to us."
There was no arguing with such logic. They snuffed out the lantern, and then Snufkin tugged on Moomintroll's arm until he joined him kneeling in the dirt.
"Can you see it?" he whispered.
Moomintroll squinted. "No."
"Wait. Let your eyes adjust. Look over here."
Before Moomintroll could make a wry remark on the futility of "over here" as a direction in the dark, Snufkin took hold of his head, tilting it toward the forest floor.
"See it now?"
And then Moomintroll did see. "Oh," he breathed.
Climbing through the leaves and ferns were ever so many small, capped mushrooms, each one aglow with a faint greenish hue. Hidden on the underside of logs and on tree roots, they formed a fairy path lined with gleaming emerald lamps.
"They look like little aliens!" Moomintroll said in an excited whisper.
"Or their umbrellas," Snufkin quipped back.
"Are they safe to touch?"
"Certainly, just don't try to eat them."
Entranced, Moomintroll reached out and stroked one of the round mushroom caps. He pushed it over and peered at the underside. Then he sat back, gazing at the sprawling trail. Here and there tiny black insects buzzed around, attracted by the phosphorescence.
"It's beautiful," he sighed, and then, noticing he couldn't feel Snufkin nearby, spun around. "Snuf?"
"Here."
Snufkin's paw found his shoulder and he relaxed. "What is this?" he asked, twining their fingers together. He'd rather if Snufkin didn't wander off and leave him alone with the beautiful yet creepy mushrooms.
"Foxfire," Snufkin answered. "That's what it's called. You can see it in spring, on very dark nights that are not too warm or dry, around certain trees, like these oak."
"Foxfire," Moomintroll echoed. "What's it got to do with foxes, though?"
"I don't know." Snufkin gave a shrug. "I heard the name while traveling, but never asked about it."
"Maybe Moominpappa has a book that explains it."
"You should look tomorrow."
They fell quiet, both content to drink in the ethereal scene. And Moomintroll began to count all the memories like this they'd made together. Special moments where time seemed suspended, that transported him out of his humdrum daily life, to a place where only the two of them mattered. And there was nothing to fear, not because fear didn't exist, but because he never felt braver than when his friend was by his side.
"How I love seeing the world through your eyes," he said before he could think better of it.
Snufkin's head moved. He wondered just how well Snufkin could see with his night-vision. Without the aid of the moon perhaps not very, but still better than Moomintroll. He swallowed.
"Thanks, I guess," Snufkin said.
His heart thumped. "Some things only reveal themselves in the dark," Snufkin had told him earlier. He'd been speaking of mushrooms. But there were other things, as well, that hid from the light, but under the cover of dark clamored to come out. That wanted to glow.
This is special. It is, isn't it? A wonder of nature, something rare and precious, and the two of us alone sharing it.
And yet Snufkin had called off their boat trip just like that. So Moomintroll could spend time with Snorkmaiden. It wasn't fair - he did his best to split his days for both of them, but the fact remained that Snorkmaiden was always a short walk away, while Snufkin could disappear at a moment's notice.
Sure, they could reschedule. But it wasn't about the trip, not really. Snufkin might just decide to head into the mountains for a week, and perhaps the week after that it would rain, and the week after Snorkmaiden would want to go on another picnic, to make up for however many picnics they missed due to the rain, and before he knew it the first autumn leaf would fall...
And, like a southern wind, Snufkin would blow away.
"Moomintroll?" Snufkin asked. "You've gone very still."
What was he doing? Snorkmaiden wasn't here. How could he let her tag along like this when he'd wanted so much to be alone with Snufkin? Moomintroll pushed the thought of her far away. Daytime was for Snorkmaiden; night belonged to him and Snufkin.
"Could you let up a bit?"
"Huh?"
"You don't need to hold on to me."
With a start, Moomintroll realized just how tight his hold on his friend had grown. Right away he loosened his grip, but didn't let go. "Sorry. Thoughts ran away with me."
"Hmm. I'd offer a penny, but I'm skint," Snufkin grinned.
"Oh, you I might tell for free."
"Really? How generous. What great thoughts are spinning in that mind of yours, Moomintroll?"
"Thoughts -" he stammered, "thoughts about the world - about how things change -"
"The more they change, the more they stay the same?"
"More like... sometimes the things you want to change don't, and the things that do you wish would go back to the way they were..." Moomintroll's brow creased. The image of the shining mushrooms blurred as he dropped his focus to the ground.
Then Snufkin stepped closer. He covered their linked paws with his free one. "I don't like to worry so much about tomorrow," he said. "Or I might miss what's right in front of me. So I hold on to that, and then I have faith that tomorrow will take care of itself."
"It's that easy, is it," Moomintroll muttered.
"Easy has nothing to do with it. It's a way of life." Both of Snufkin's thumbs dug into the fur on the back of his paw. "Besides, whatever happens, you've got your friends to help you. Little My, Snorkmaiden, Sniff, and the rest."
"How about you?" Moomintroll asked. "Haven't I got you too?"
"I thought that went without saying," his friend chuckled. "You've got me, and I've got you."
"Always?" Almost without thinking, he leaned down ever so slightly.
Snufkin made a dim noise of disapproval. "You know I'm not suited to words like never and always..."
"As far as you can see, then."
He felt, rather than heard, his friend's sigh.
"As far as I can see... yes."
What possessed him then, he had no idea.
He nuzzled Snufkin's cheek, grazing his lips with his snout.
Only for a moment. A lapse in time. So brief that, afterward, he couldn't recall clearly what he had felt. In the space of a second, Snufkin's head gave a sharp jerk, and Moomintroll backpedaled furiously.
A second is all it takes for lightning to fell a tree.
"Let's forget that happened," Moomintroll said. His fingers fumbled with his lantern, dropping it twice.
"Moomintroll..." Snufkin sounded terribly surprised. And why shouldn't he be?
"I messed up, alright?" Moomintroll cried in a breathless rush, half-panicked. The thrill of adventure had evaporated, replaced by cold terror. "I didn't think. It's - it's late. I was half in a dream..."
The lantern was taken from him.
"You don't have to make excuses," said Snufkin. "If you want to forget it, it's forgotten."
He lit the lamp. A bright orange circle surrounded them, extinguishing the mushrooms. The fairy forest became regular old Moominvalley woods. The extraordinary moment was over, and it was all Moomintroll's stupid, stupid fault.
Looking Snufkin in the eye took enormous effort. By the time he managed it, Snufkin had schooled his face to show only total calm. Whatever he'd felt before, it was gone, locked away. He was even smiling.
"We should go back," he said. "Wouldn't want your mother to worry."
Worry she might, but Moomintroll so often went out in the early morning with Snufkin that at least she was used to the sight of his empty bed. Even so, Moomintroll followed his friend with his head hanging, and cast a last, regretful look behind him. If only he could rewind to that moment, the two of them stood watching the magical display, paw in paw. But there was no taking it back now. His nerves were shaken. He wanted the sanctity of his own room, and the privacy to work through his tumultuous thoughts.
So engrossed was he in his troubles that he couldn't spare the energy to be impressed or frightened by the eerie woods as they wove their way back to Moominhouse.