Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was bright.

The sky burned a robin egg’s blue and pear trees blossomed with little white flowers. The last remaining patches of snow had melted into the ground, revealing bits of timid green grass underneath.

And it was quiet. Except for the babbling of the brook and the occasional twittering from the treetops, that is. This was quieter than it had been for a long time, and as quiet as it would be for some time after that. All the creatures of Moominvalley would soon awaken and begin their hustle-bustle, stretching their little legs and cleaning away the remaining cobwebs of winter. Only then would spring finally arrive.

Springtime was very special to the folk of Moominvalley. It brought sunshine, and beach days, and gardens bursting with flowers. It brought great adventures and lazy afternoons and the smell of blueberry pancakes wafting through the air. 

Of course, there was one more thing that always came with this season. For the past several years, as sure as the dawn and brighter so, with the first day of spring would come Snufkin. 

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Perched atop the red tiled roof of Moominhouse was a bird. Nothing extraordinary about it – small and beige, quite plain compared to the bluetail or the goldfinch or even the great phoenix that had only been seen once or twice. But no matter about that.

The avian ruffled its feathers and began its sad, ghostly song — one it had sung for so long that it’d become the bird’s name – mourning dove.

Coo-OO-oo, coo-OO-oo.

The melodic call traveled through the air, rippling like calm water over the valley.

Coo-OO-oo, coo-OO-oo.

The dove was startled to suddenly hear a reply.

Twoo-OO-oo, who-OO-oo. 

This was the sound of a Moomin whistling (for as everyone knows, Moomins cannot sing very well but are remarkable whistlers). This particular one sat on the wooden back steps of his home, with a warm flannel blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Twoo-OO-oo, who-OO-oo. He whistled. Pale blue eyes searched the landscape, watching clouds roll by. 

A gentle cre-eak from the door told the troll that he was no longer alone.

“You’re awake early,” Said Moominmamma as she sat down next to her son. “I thought I might find you out here.”

Moomintroll did not say a word; he did not need to. He gazed out towards the trees and breathed deeply.

Moominmamma hummed. She handed him one of the mugs she’d been holding, and smiled as Moomintroll held it up to his snout, allowing the hot coffee to warm him up. She took a sip of her own. There was a long silence.

“Did you know, Mamma,” Moomintroll began quietly. “That mourning doves mate for life?”

“Do they?” Moominmamma replied. It was more of a comment than a question.

“Well … some do, anyhow.”

They sat in silence for a few more moments.

“Where did you learn that?” Moominmamma asked.

“Pappa has a book on birds. I was looking for something to read a few days ago, when I first woke up.” 

“Hmm. Well, did you read that mourning doves also represent friendship? Love, and hope?”

Moomintroll said nothing for a minute. “Then why … do they sound so sad all the time?”

***

Only a few miles away from Moominvalley, nestled amongst the thickets of the forest and underneath a canopy of branches, one could find a little green tent. Nearby, the campfire had been snuffed to ashes, and the little fish kettle that hung above it grew cold. That was it. That was truly all there was – a humble way of living, certainly, but it was more than enough for Snufkin.

Roughly three paces and one hop away from the campsite, perched on a mossy stone by the stream, was Snufkin himself. However, something was wrong. 

This wasn’t the same cheerful, carefree Snufkin the world had come to know. Normally, this time of year, the vagabond would be finishing up a new spring tune to play for his friends. He would be moving with a skip in his step and a sparkle in his eye, feeling ready to return after months of traveling in peaceful solitude. His harmonica music would fill the air as he drew ever closer to the valley.

But this time, he did not have his harmonica. 

And he hadn’t been to Moominvalley in over a year. 

Snufkin huffed in exasperation, alternating between whittling a little flute and scratching his forearms. They were ever so itchy. And his hands wouldn’t stop trembling, which made it very difficult to carve the wood. On top of it all, Snufkin felt very awake and very tired at the same time. 

A strange fever had come over him recently, and it was becoming quite the annoyance.

He quit whittling when his hand slipped and he nicked himself with the pocketknife. Tossing the half-made instrument aside with a frustrated cry, Snufkin grumbled to himself and shook the pain off of his wounded hand.

“Get yourself together, Snufkin,” He sighed. Oh, why was this so terribly hard?

Wrapping his finger with a bit of scrap cloth, Snufkin pushed his chestnut-colored hair out of his eyes and placed his signature green hat upon his head. He should pack up now. He should be crossing the bridge into Moominvalley at this very minute. 

But his feet wouldn’t seem to move, as if his boots were stuck to the ground. As it had been for the past few days, this was as close as Snufkin could bring himself to the valley. 

He scratched his nose.

–Oh, dear, now his nose was itchy.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. He wanted more than anything to see his friends. He terribly missed Little My, Snorkmaiden, and even Sniff.

And Moomin, He thought.

Snufkin's chest tightened at the mere thought. What must he think of me?

After all, they all likely thought Snufkin had abandoned them. Why shouldn’t they? He hadn’t returned last spring as he said he would. He left his friends – and his best friend – alone, without so much as a letter to explain himself. 

Surely, they must hate him – if they hadn’t forgotten him by now.

This was all the more reason for Snufkin to leap to his feet and run as quickly as he could in the direction of Moominhouse.

But, Groke, he just felt so scared.

From the trees, a rustling came. Then the fluttering of wings. Finally a lovely song filled Snufkin’s ears – something that tickled the back of his memories, familiar and yet unfamiliar all the same. One so beautiful that it sprung tears from his eyes.

Coo-OO-oo, coo-OO-oo.

Chapter Text

The summer Snufkin disappeared was, in many ways, like all the summers that had preceded it. The sun shined brightly, waves crashed against the beach, a warm breeze rippled across the grass – it was lovely.

But it was also horrible.

No one seemed quite sure what to do. The first few weeks were spent waiting in anticipation, expecting every leaf that rustled and every twig that snapped as a signal of their friend’s arrival. Then, some time later, they all took to reassuring Moomin that yes, of course, Snufkin would come very soon. Soon their confidence gave way to worry, and then to initiative. There was a plan to search for him, in case he’d gotten himself into danger. But what if Snufkin came back while they were gone? No, that wouldn’t do.

So Moomintroll and his friends – Sniff, Little My, Snork and Snorkmaiden – all did their very best to enjoy the season in his absence. They explored caves, played games, picked flowers … all the usual summer things.

But without Snufkin there everything just felt still. Like time had simply stopped, and all the colors seemed a bit duller. It didn’t matter how many fluffy pancakes Moominmamma cooked, or how many riveting stories Moominpappa told, or even how much Little My tormented the Hemulen. It simply wasn’t summer. 

“That Snufkin – he’s in for it! I have half a mind to feed him to the antlions!” Little My grumbled, kicking a pebble.

“If we ever see him again,” Muttered Moomintroll, walking beside her and carrying a basket of pine needles.

“He thinks he can just abandon us like that? No way! Who does he think he is?” She continued, having not heard him.

Moomin looked over at her. He knew that My wasn’t really angry; She was scared. And upset. And most of all, she missed her younger brother.

But it was too much, and it had been too long. Moomintroll stopped short. “Little My?” 

“Huh? What’d you stop for?” She barked back at him. 

“Can we please stop pretending that Snufkin will come back?”

“What? Now, what are you saying that for? You, of all people! You’re usually the last to give up on him!” 

“I know. But … It's late November. All the leaves have fallen, the air’s chilly – summer is over. It’s been months, My. He’s not coming.”

Suddenly, two very green, very angry-looking eyes were right in Moomintroll’s face. Little My glared at him and prodded his snout. 

“You said that a few years ago! When you were sick, remember? He came then! What’s the matter with you? You’re acting like that gloomy Misabel!” She shouted.

“I’m just tired, My. I don’t even feel upset about it anymore. I’m just … tired of waiting.”

Little My frowned. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but instead turned and ran away towards Moominhouse, where everyone was preparing for hibernation.

Moomintroll stood there alone, holding the half-filled basket. 

“Snufkin was right,” He whispered to himself. “You can never truly be free if you admire someone too much.” 

And just like that, the last spark of hope had been snuffed out.

Chapter Text

“Moomin! Moomin!” A familiar voice singsonged.

Moomintroll looked up from the slow-flowing river. Blinking himself out of a daze, he turned around to see the person approaching him.

“Oh, hello, Snorkmaiden.”

“Aren’t you silly! What are you doing here all by yourself?” 

“Oh, I’m just …” Moomin glanced at the empty spot beside him on the riverbank. In his hands, he held a little handmade boat.

“Everyone’s been looking for you, you know.”

The troll offered a soft smile. “Sorry. I guess the time slipped away from me.” 

That small, genuine smile.

A few years ago, Snorkmaiden might have quickly grinned back. Now, instead, the sight of it made her chest ache. It wasn’t because he was faking (Moomin hardly ever lied, and he wasn’t very good at it). It was because he wasn’t lying, and how empty the smile seemed anyway. As if this was all the emotion her friend could muster. Moomintroll’s smile used to radiate happiness, brimming with enthusiasm. It was far more valuable and brilliant than even the Hobgoblin’s rubies. 

Now, his whole being was buried under so many layers of dust that even when a smile did appear, one could barely see its shine. 

It was unbearable, but Snorkmaiden didn’t dare tell him so.

She needed to cheer him up.

Her warm brown eyes softened with empathy, but the determination was strong. If I need to smile enough for the both of us, I will. 

So, she pulled her friend up by the arm. “Come on, let’s go do something fun! After all, we need to celebrate!” 

Moomintroll’s brow furrowed in confusion. He set down the bark boat as gently as possible while being led up the hill. “What are we celebrating?” 

Snorkmaiden turned back to him with an astonished look on her face. “Why, your birthday, of course!”

***

“Heavens, you can’t wait out here forever!” Snufkin scolded himself. “You’re missing your chance.” 

He scratched his arms once again, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. This was ridiculous – it was hardly warm enough to be sweating; spring had only just begun a few days ago. 

Yet, it wasn’t particularly chilly, either, so why was Snufkin shaking? 

The traveler shook his head and looked down at his worn leather boots. He forced his foot to take a step forward. Then another. And another.

Yes, good. This was progress. Better than he’d managed to do over the past week. There had been many times when Snufkin considered packing up and running in the opposite direction, never to be seen again. Perhaps he would make camp in the Lonely Mountains, so he didn’t have to see the dissappointed faces of his loved ones.

But the Lonely Mountains were nearby where he’d met Moomin and Sniff. If he went there, Moomintroll would only consume his thoughts. So Snufkin continued towards Moominhouse, leaving footprints in the soft soil. His legs felt a bit weak, but he blamed that on his nerves. If he just kept moving, he might forget how scared he was.

As his footfalls fell into a rhythm, his heartbeat calmed just a bit. Birds chirped – nothing like that strange song he’d heard a few days ago, but lovely nonetheless. He found himself humming along. 

It had been a long time since Snufkin had made any kind of music. In the past, he’d always pass the time by playing a tune on his harmonica, or perhaps a guitar. But he’d since given those instruments away. It was just as well; Snufkin hardly ever felt musical since leaving the valley.

But as he walked through the forest, something strange happened.

For whatever the reason, for the first time in many years, Snufkin began to sing. 

***

“Happy birthday!” Sniff crowed, much to the astonishment of Moomin standing before him. 

“Pardon?” It was all the troll could manage to say.

Snorkmaiden’s eyes shone. “Isn’t it splendid? We’ve got the whole valley gathered here!”

Indeed, the grassy clearing around Moominhouse was cluttered with beasts big and small (well, perhaps small and smaller). The appetizing aroma of funnel cake and pear jam wafted through the air, and lively music rose from Too-Ticky’s barrel organ. The midday sun warmed everyone’s faces, and the grass tickled a dance into their feet. 

It was a proper Moominvalley party. 

Moomintroll turned to her. “But … My birthday is in August!” 

“Of course we know that, we’re not stupid! But you were acting so gloomy all the time– OW!” Sniff yelped as Snorkmaiden stepped on his tail. 

“What he means is, we felt that it would lift everyone’s spirits! This past year has been … well, you know … and what better way to honor  the passage of time? We’ll all be a bit older this summer, so today we’re celebrating everyone’s birthday!” 

“Well, strike me pink…” Breathed Moomintroll. 

Snorkmaiden and Sniff exchanged anxious glances.

Finally, Moomin sighed and grinned at his friends. “Then, in that case … happy birthday to you, too.” 

And when they pulled him into the bustling festivities with all the dancing and laughter, Moomin didn’t resist.

Chapter Text

The noontime sun shined brightly in the sky. Dozens of paws clapped together to a lively beat. In the center of the crowd, Snorkmaiden and Moomintroll spun each other around in a fast-paced, silly dance. 

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Snorkmaiden laughed. “Are you having fun?” 

Moomin didn’t seem to hear her over all the music and laughter and chatter. Or perhaps he had, and simply didn’t want to answer. Still, his eyes twinkled with a bit more warmth than Snorkmaiden had seen in a while. 

But then the song ended. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed as Moomintroll’s breathing steadied, and he no longer was focused on the dance steps, those blue eyes began to cloud over with melancholy all over again.

No, no. That wouldn’t do. She needed to think of something else.

“Oh! I nearly forgot! You must come see – Snork’s got a new invention that he wants to show everyone!” She practically dragged Moomin across the clearing. 

Snorkmaiden’s brother stood by the Muskrat, fervently discussing who-knows-what. Sometimes it seemed Snork would give incomprehensible speeches to anyone who would listen – but then again, so did the Muskrat. 

“No, you see, to assume that everything is useless is–” Snork argued.

The Muskrat interrupted him. “I am a philosopher, not a scientist, you–” 

“You don't understa– listen –” 

“Hi!” Snorkmaiden said, a little forcefully. She must have shouted it, because both her brother and the philosopher jumped. 

“Don’t you want to show Moomintroll your special project?” 

Snork’s eyebrows furrowed. “Now?”

“Yes! Why, it was all you could talk about just this morning!” 

The Snork pushed his glasses further up his snout. “Well, yes, but the proper adjustments still need to be made.”

“Oh come on, Snork! We all really want to see it! You’re so clever, I’m sure the settings are fine!” Snorkmaiden pressed. 

Snork, who enjoyed being complimented more than he’d ever admit, softened slightly. He then squinted up at the sky, as if checking on something. 

“Well,” He relented, albeit with a small smile on his face. “If you all insist. I’ll need everyone to meet at the beach.” 

Moomin’s ears perked up at this – he loved the sea very much. He wondered what Snork’s invention was. 

Snorkmaiden took notice of his excitement, and she beamed. Perhaps she could bring her friend back to his old, cheerful self.

She nudged Moomintroll. 

“Well, what are we waiting for? Come along, everybody!” With that, Snorkmaiden took off towards the beach. Moomin followed in close pursuit, along with Snork. 

As Moomin ran, his feet thudding on the ground and a flitter of adventure in his heart, he could swear he heard a strange sound coming from the forest. It was beautiful, melodic, and achingly familiar. Moomin slowed down for a moment to listen…

But the sound had faded, and his friends were calling for him to catch up. 

***

“....And for this lonely traveler, who is… is…”

The singing paused.

“...Who is… comp- who is completely … free.”

Heavens, had the air gotten heavier in this forest?

Snufkin knelt over to catch his breath. The old joy of singing had been quickly taken away from him, as each inhale became increasingly difficult.

He wiped his palms on his trousers. Looking down at his hands, they seemed a darker hue than they had been hours before. It almost appeared as if Snufkin were wearing gloves. Very strange, very itchy gloves. 

Sweat stuck his hair to the back of his neck. His legs trembled as they trudged along.

Snufkin blinked, hard.

It seemed his illness had surged in the past hour he’d been walking, making it very difficult to navigate the forest. At least, he thought it had been an hour. Looking up through the trees, Snufkin reckoned it was a little past noon. 

There was still plenty of time to reach the valley. He just needed to keep moving, as he always had. Keep moving.

***

Waves lapped at the shoreline, slowly regaining their spunk after a frozen winter. Moomintroll dipped his foot into the shallow waters, and shivered at the shocking cold. An exhilarated cheer escaped from his chest.

It was the kind of cold that seeped deep into your bones and ached from the inside out, but he absolutely loved it.

Snufkin would love it, too.

“Stop it, Moomintroll,” he chided himself. 

No point in heartache. Besides, he didn’t want to worry Snorkmaiden. She thought Moomin hadn’t noticed her efforts to distract him from Snufkin’s absence, but he already knew. 

He cared for Snorkmaiden deeply. She was lovely, and wise, and a very determined … friend. 

Yes. Friend.

But that was all. 

Yes, sometime over the past year, something had changed between the couple. Moomintroll wasn’t sure why, but he knew that he didn’t feel the way a person in love should. 

Moomin had based his idea of a relationship off of Moominmamma and Moominpappa. His parents had met on a grand adventure, and they had been together happily ever since. So when he met the Snork siblings while trying to save the valley from a comet, he’d thought, This must be what love feels like. 

And perhaps he’d had a crush on her back then. But that was a long time ago — they were both older now, and Moomintroll knew that something just wasn’t right. It didn’t matter how much time they spent together, or how often they held paws, or how comfortable he felt around her. 

This wasn’t love – at least not in a romantic sense. 

Moomin knew this. 

And it terrified him.

Chapter Text

“Alright then, if you all will stand back,” Snork announced officiously. “This is delicate machinery that only I am qualified to operate.”

Moomin had no idea what he was looking at. Set upon the sand was a wooden, semicircular box that was absolutely covered in levers and buttons and dials – not a single surface was free. From the back, dozens of metal pipes extended out towards the ocean and weaved together, finally poking up just above the water. 

Whatever it was, Moomintroll was very, very impressed. How haven’t we noticed him working on this?

“What does it do?” Sniff piped up, peering over Snork’s shoulder. Snork shooed him away, checking the barometer.

“Where did he get all of the parts?” Moomin whispered to Snorkmaiden, who merely shrugged. 

“Stand back, please,” Snork repeated.

Everyone scrambled away, kicking up sand in the process.

“Thank you.” He continued. “You must be wondering why I’ve brought you all here.”

In truth, only a handful of small beasts had come to the beach. Most everyone was still back near Moominhouse, dancing and eating cake until their tummies and toes hurt. Nevertheless, the young inventor clasped his paws behind his back proudly and spoke in a formal voice.

“Yeah, get on with it already!” Little My cried while Snorkmaiden attempted to shush her.

“Do not interrupt me while I am presenting–” The Snork protested.

“Then be less boring–!” Little My was cut off as Moomin threw a paw over her mouth.

“– This machine represents a new art form; one that combines nature’s elements and modern animation techniques, using applied physics and accurate timing.” Snork pressed on, before My could interject again. “And with the wind’s current direction and velocity, we can expect optimal viewing weather for the next ten-or-so minutes.”

Sniff offered a blank stare. Little My snorted. 

“Um … what does that all mean, though?” Moomintroll asked politely.

The Snork sighed in defeat. “I’ll just show you.” 

His paws flew quickly across the box, adjusting knobs and turning dials. The machine let out a few metallic creaks and clicks and shudders in response. The pipes shifted and moved around, finally arranging into a sort of whirlpool shape in the water. Waves lapped and splashed against the metal.

Snorkmaiden squeezed Moomin’s arm. They all held their breath.

Suddenly, a white spray of water shot out of a pipe. Then another, and another. At first, Moomintroll was worried that Snork’s machine had broken. Then he and the others watched, spellbound, as hundreds of narrow water pillars fountained into the air before crashing back down as a fine mist.

Everyone gasped. 

“It’s the antlion!” Sniff remarked. 

Indeed, the mizzle fell in such a way that it looked remarkably like an antlion. Snork flipped a few more levers and the water pressure shifted, making the creature move and bound around. It leaped toward the beach before dissolving into a splash of little droplets. 

“There’s more,” Snork told his slack-jawed friends with a smile. He adjusted the machine’s controls once again, and this time a misty version of The Hobgoblin appeared above the waves. Then a comet. Then Moominhouse. 

Snorkmaiden and Little My cheered as a water-My and a water-Maiden danced around in the air before falling like stardust into the sea.

“Oh Snork, this is marvelous! Another! Do someone else!” Snorkmaiden beamed.

Levers flipped. Dials turned. The rickety pipes creaked and groaned. And the mist formed a familiar shape: a lean figure with a pointy hat. As the sun began to dip behind the horizon, the sea spray lit up with a brilliant orange glow.

Moomin’s stomach plummeted. At the same time, his heart felt light as he watched a water-Snufkin stride gracefully through the air, waving at the small group on the beach. Without thinking, Moomintroll raised his paw to wave back…

But as he did, Snufkin dissolved, sprinkling into the waves and leaving only ripples as a sign that he was even there at all. Moomin turned to ask what had happened, and he saw everyone – Snorkmaiden, Little My, and Sniff – practically tackling Snork as they reached to turn off the contraption.

He stared at his friends. They all stared back. Little My gave Snork a sharp kick in the shin, Snorkmaiden forced an innocent smile, and Sniff simply froze in place, as if Moomin might explode at any moment.

…Oh. 

Was this what everyone thought of him? 

A codependent, fragile troll – someone who would shatter at the mere mention of his lost friend? 

I suppose I haven’t really been myself in a long time, He admitted. But I’m not foolish. I see what they’ve been doing. Today was all meant to distract from the fact that–

“Snufkin’s not here.” Moomintroll said aloud.

His friends exchanged nervous glances. 

“We … yes, w-we know that–” Snorkmaiden began apprehensively.

“So do I. Snufkin’s gone, and he’s not coming back. And that’s – that’s okay.”

“Moomin–” Sniff began.

“No, it really is. Listen, please.” Moomin clenched his fists and lowered his gaze to the sand. “Sniff … do you remember when we first met Snufkin, when you lost those garnets? You were escaping from a giant lizard, and you didn’t manage to hang on to a single jewel.” 

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Sniff groaned mournfully. 

“Do you remember what Snufkin said to you then?” Moomintroll locked eyes with him. 

When he received no reply, Moomin continued. “He said you could carry them in your head as memories. And that loss is what comes with wanting to possess things. But I didn’t listen.”

“What? No, Moomin–” Snorkmaiden began. 

“I was selfish. I always wanted him to stay here, when he was never meant to. He was our friend – something really valuable and beautiful, like a gemstone – and … I-I wanted to hold onto him, without caring what he wanted. That’s why he didn’t come back.”

“Moomin, stop! This isn’t your fault!” Snorkmaiden moved towards him. 

“No, please! Let me finish!” The ocean breeze ruffled Moomin’s fur. Was it getting windier? “It’s okay. I have my memories of him – we all do – of the wonderful thing it was to be Snufkin’s friend. But…”

The Snork pushed his bangs out of his eyes and looked into the sky. “Hmm..”

“I’m afraid that I haven’t been a good friend.” Moomin’s voice cracked. “I tried to change his nature by asking him to stay – I got lost in my admiration for him, and now I’ve gone and made you all worry, when you’ve lost Snufkin, too!” 

The fiery glow of sunset had faded, leaving the steely gray of clouds in its place. Snork’s machine creaked and groaned. Waves splashed against the rocks more harshly.

“You don’t need to worry for me anymore. I am stronger than you all think – a-and I promise that I will be better from now on!” Moomin’s blue eyes brimmed with tears, but they held a look of determination. 

“Pardon me, but–” Snork spoke up.

“Truly! I don’t miss him anymore– I won’t…” Moomin squeezed his eyes shut. The salt water stung his face as it splashed him.

“Uhh, Moomin?” Little My yelled, clinging to Snorkmaiden’s leg as the wind whipped her red hair out of its tight bun. 

“Oh, what is it?” Moomintroll cried, his voice barely audible over the sound of crashing waves. Raindrops began to speckle the ground. 

It was then that a massive thunderclap echoed through the valley.

Chapter Text

Snufkin could smell the rain before it came. 

At first, he welcomed the cool drops that pattered and ran down his face, soothing a nose that was so itchy it practically burned. His arms hurt the same, along with his legs and feet … and his back …

He shook his head. One problem at a time, Snufkin thought to himself. 

Or perhaps he’d said it aloud. His fever had gotten worse, and he was exhausted. And now the rain was coming down faster and daylight was quickly fleeting, making it very difficult to see. Strong winds pushed him every which way. 

He could only hope he was moving in the right direction now. The young vagabond staggered through the trees, his breath ragged and hands shaking. Keep moving.

The forest was suddenly lit with a lightning flash, quickly followed by a bout of thunder that startled Snufkin so badly he nearly toppled over. All of the hair on his arms stood straight up. 

This wasn’t like him at all. He’d always loved thunderstorms, ever since he was small. But here he was, disoriented and trembling like a young child.

Keep. Moving. 

***

“Snork, what’s happening? I thought you checked the weather!” Snorkmaiden’s voice was almost drowned out by the wind. 

“I did! ” Her brother shouted back. “The rapid changes in pressure and temperature needed for the machine to work must have–” 

“Are you all going to stand around, or are we going to run?” Little My screamed. A particularly strong gust nearly sent her flying off her feet.

“Yeah, let’s go!” Sniff yelped, turning in the direction of Moominhouse. 

“Where are you going?” Snork called out.

“The show is over, Snork! We’re headed for shelter!” My snapped. 

“No, I mean it’s too far! We won’t make it!” He yelled back. Snork’s fur faded to a green hue as he grew agitated. 

“Well, what do we do?” Sniff asked fearfully.

“The bathhouse!” Moomin pointed to a small building in the distance.

As night fell, five small beasts fled the beach. The Snork looked back at his invention, wondering if it might survive the storm. Then turned and kept running. 

“Open up! Please!” Snorkmaiden banged on the bathhouse door, pushing back her soaked fringe. “Too-Ticky!” 

***

Back at Moominhouse, everyone had already retreated into their homes to hide from the rain. Well, almost everyone. Mrs. Fillyjonk fought the winds as she tried to collect the tablecloths and fine silverware that she’d brought.

With her belongings bundled in her arms, the terrified Fillyjonk ran towards her house, nearly crashing into Moominmamma in her hurry.

“The children went to the beach! They could be in danger in this weather!” Mamma stood in the grass, looking towards the shoreline with a worried expression.

“Come inside, dear! They’re not children anymore, they’ll be alright!” Moominpappa gently tried to bring her inside. He held his top hat above her head in an effort to shield from the rain. (It wasn’t working very well.)

“Oh no, I need to make sure that they’re safe–” 

“They can take shelter in the bathhouse. Come now, Mamma, we both know they’ve handled worse than a rainstorm before!” 

Moominmamma furrowed her brow, but eventually relented. The couple hurried inside and gave the door a final shove to close it. As they did, Mamma thought – just for a moment – that she saw a figure emerge from the forest. 

***

“Are you all alright?” Too-Ticky pushed a crate against her door to keep it shut.

The windows rattled violently, the weak roof leaked rainwater into pails, and on the floor lay Moomin, Snork, Sniff, Little My, and Snorkmaiden. They were all piled together, soaked to the bone and trying to catch their breath.

“I’ve never seen a thunderstorm arrive so quickly. What were you all doing at the beach?” Too-Ticky picked up a few towels that the invisible shrews brought to her.

“It was – well, we don’t know, exactly …” Snorkmaiden gasped, wrapping the cloth around her and Little My’s shoulders. 

“I’m afraid it was my fault,” Snork relented, guilt lacing each word.

“Now, this is not the time to point blame. Right, Moomin? … Moomin?” Snorkmaiden turned.

He avoided her gaze and instead busied himself with drying off. When he was done, his fur stuck up in different directions. 

They all might have laughed if not for the look on Moomintroll’s face. He stared at the floor.

“Snorkmaiden, I … I-”

Another clap of thunder shook the bathhouse. 

A flash filled the small room with a harsh white light. 

Sniff screamed and clambered up onto the table. 

Too-Ticky offered a kind smile and didn’t flinch, even when a few dishes were knocked to the floor. “Don’t worry. This place has held up through many hailstorms. We will be safe until this passes.” 

“Oh yeah? Well, we might drown in all this water before that happens!” Little My hopped onto a chair to escape from a puddle. Near her, one of the rain-catching buckets was overflowing.

“Don’t be silly, My! Moomin, won’t you look at me?” Snorkmaiden begged.

“I, um …” The troll lost his courage. “I-I ought to board up this window.” 

“Wait!” She hurried after him. 

“Sniff, Little My, would you please help me empty these pails?” Too-Ticky gently put a hand on their shoulders and led them to the sink.

“I think we should talk about what happened back there,” Snorkmaiden pressed Moomintroll.

“Oh please, Snorkmaiden.” He begged, lifting a flat piece of firewood to cover the window.

“Just tell me how to help!” 

“That’s the trouble!” Moomintroll’s voice shook. “You’ve always been so wonderful, a-and I…”

“What’s that sound?” Sniff asked from across the room. 

“Moomin, you’re wonderful too!” Snorkmaiden reached for him.

“No, I am not! Surely you know it.”

A loud creaking, whistling, snapping noise echoed across the beach. Too-Ticky screamed a warning, but it was too late. 

With a crash, a nearby tree fell right on top of the bathhouse, straining the ceiling beams and shattering a few windows. Too-Ticky, the Snork, Little My, and Sniff all ducked beneath the table.

Moomin and Snorkmaiden moved to join them. 

“Stop! If that tree breaks through the roof, you’d be crushed! Stay there.” Snork instructed.

“I thought you said we’d be safe!” Little My screamed. 

No one heard her, though, as the wind picked up even stronger. Rain and seawater sprayed in through the window. Moomin and Snorkmaiden huddled together under the window, covered in sticks and shattered glass.

“I promise!” Moomintroll shouted. This was important. “From now on, I will give you the devotion you deserve! I’ll never mention Snufkin again!”

“Moomin, stop! You don’t have to do that! I already–”

Tears mixed with rainwater as Moomin gave her a heartbreakingly determined look. “I will try harder! I’ll take you to see the sunset, and bring you flowers and pearls – I swear to be the best boyfriend–”

“By the Groke, Moomintroll! It’s okay! I know you could never love me as much as you love him!”

***

The storm outside was so loud that Pappa almost didn’t hear the knock at the door. After all, who would be outside in this weather?

Knock, knock, knock. 

It was weak, but determined. 

Moominpappa decided to trust his instincts. He removed the deadbolt and turned the handle, but by that point the wind had swung the door open on its own. 

On the front porch stood a figure. A flash of lightning backlit the visitor, but shadows obscured their face.

Moominpappa almost grabbed the nearby umbrella (still wet) as a makeshift weapon. For all he knew, this stranger was dangerous. 

It wasn’t until the person collapsed onto the floor of Moominhouse that Pappa recognized the tattered green hat upon their head.

Chapter Text

“I know you could never love me as much as you love him!” 

Moomintroll forgot how to speak. 

He forgot how to breathe, or move, or … anything, as he processed those words said with such earnestness and conviction. 

Love. Love. Love.

His head spun and his chest buzzed as if he were recovering from shock. Moomintroll didn’t even realize he was still being spoken to until a paw grabbed his shoulder to shake him. 

“Moomin!” 

That was Snorkmaiden’s voice again. 

Moomin blinked. “...What? –Sorry, what?” 

“For heaven’s sake, help me with this!” She cried in exasperation. 

Snorkmaiden was regathering the flattest planks of firewood she could find – that is, the ones that Moomin had just dropped in surprise. It took a moment for him to realize she was trying to board up the window.

“Right! Hold on – that’s not going to work – oh!” Moomin looked around for something stronger to use. The kitchen table caught his eye, but his friends were currently using it for shelter. 

Too-Ticky’s hoosier cupboard was only a few paces away. The trouble was that without a window, the rueful weather had welcomed itself inside, and the ceiling still creaked and groaned under the fallen tree’s weight. 

Moomintroll turned to look back at Snorkmaiden. Her brown eyes were rimmed with pink, and Moomin wasn’t quite sure if the water that dripped down her face was rain or tears. 

Something broke in Moomin’s chest – or perhaps mended – as he watched his lovely friend ignore the danger and dash towards the cupboard. Flying sticks and leaves whipped all around, and her sopping blonde fringe fell into her eyes no matter how often she pushed it back. But Snorkmaiden persisted, grabbing the sides of the hutch and desperately working to drag it with her.

It had been so long – Moomin had almost forgotten how brave Snorkmaiden was. 

Of course.

She had never really needed a strong, perfect boyfriend. She’d simply fallen victim to the same fairytale vision that Moomintroll used to have when they first met – the princess and her prince. And that simply wasn’t who either of them were. 

So when Moomin followed her lead and began pushing the cupboard from behind, he did it not as her hero, but as her friend. 

***

“...-ing him inside…”

“His hand is bleeding–”

“...now, hurry now…”

Snufkin vaguely remembered bits of conversation as he felt himself being lifted from the wooden floor. He remembered shaking uncontrollably and ice-cold water dripping off his clothes. He remembered the itching, burning sensation worse than it had ever been. 

And he remembered losing consciousness. 

Well, not really. But the next thing Snufkin knew, he was lying in a bed. His body felt sore all over. 

Strands of pale moonlight slipped through the curtains. He’d always been able to see well in the darkness; perhaps the best, which is why it only worsened his headache when replaced by a bright, warm glow. 

Snufkin grunted and squeezed his eyes shut again. Then he heard the creaking of door hinges. 

Oh. 

Someone was coming into the room.

“How are you feeling, dear?” A soothing voice washed over him – a voice that he had missed terribly. He peeked out from under the pillow. 

“Moom-Moominmamma…?” He whispered.

“Snufkin,” She replied softly as she sat down on the bed next to him. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

The weary traveler closed his eyes again, taking in the comfort of her familiar presence. 

“You gave us a good fright, fainting at our doorstep like that.” 

At that, a pair of brown eyes snapped right back open. Fainting?

Doorstep?  

Snufkin had made it to Moominhouse? 

He tried to sit up, but a painful itch trembled through his body.

“Shhh, shhh. Don’t try to sit up.” Mamma said. 

“Wh…” Snufkin murmured, trying to blink away the pain. “What… time is it?” 

“It’s past midnight, my boy.” Another voice spoke up from the doorway. Moominpappa. “You were out for quite a long time.” 

“I’m so sorry to intrude…” 

“Nonsense. Now, take this.” Before Snufkin could react, Moominmappa fed him a spoonful of something that tasted a bit like raspberry juice. Gently smoothing his hair back, she told him:

“You can go back to sleep now. You’ll need more rest.” 

Snufkin’s ears burned with embarrassment. He was a self-sufficient adult, and very unused to this kind of care and attention. 

But he was exhausted. Rain pattered against the window. The bed was far softer than any sleep roll he’d laid on before, and against his will, Snufkin felt the warm embrace of slumber pull him under once more. 

***

The wind had died down, now closer to a murmur than a howl. Steady rainfall kept coming, drumming against Too-Ticky’s wooden cupboard where it blocked the shattered window pane. Pine needles, sticks, and leaves littered the soaked floorboards. Across the room, Little My and Sniff had fallen asleep under the table, and Too-Ticky was making sure all of the invisible shrews were safe. The Snork had gone quiet and was fiddling with a piece of a broken vase. 

The cuckoo clock had fallen off the wall and broken, but Moomin figured it was near one-o’-clock in the morning. He and Snorkmaiden had been sitting in silence, freezing and exhausted, in the shelter of the open cabinet. 

Snorkmaiden fiddled with the pearls tied to her anklet. They clacked together rhythmically.

“I do love you, you know.” Moomintroll spoke up softly.

Snorkmaiden glanced at him, not having expected that. She sniffed and lowered her gaze. 

“It’s alright.” She whispered.

“I’m telling the truth. I’ve always loved you, it’s just … well, it’s not–” 

“Not in the way we’d hoped.” A sad smile settled on Snorkmaiden’s lips. 

Moomin nodded guiltily.

“I’ve … felt the same for some time now. For the longest while, I was jealous of how much you admired him. You looked at me like I was the stars … but you looked at Snufkin as if he were the sunrise.” Snorkmaiden sighed.

“I think what I was really jealous of…” She continued. “was the fact that you had found something I hadn’t yet.”

Moomin’s nose and ears turned pink. “Ab-about that … Snufkin and I are not … I’m not–” 

“Oh, please, Moomintroll. Anyone can see it. You’re the most like yourself when he’s here. It’s like watching a sunflower open up.”

There was silence. 

Did Moomintroll love Snufkin?

“I … thought perhaps I just really admired him.” 

Snorkmaiden’s laughter surprised Moomin. She wiped her eyes dry and turned to him, still giggling. 

“You always were so wise about everyone’s feelings but your own.” She told him.

Moomintroll couldn’t help it. His lips twitched into a smile, and before he knew it Moomin was chuckling too, trying desperately to keep quiet for their sleeping friends.

***

Coo-OO, coo-OO.

*** 

The sound of birdsong stirred Snufkin from his slumber, completely this time. A gentle morning breeze tickled his face, and sunlight reached behind his closed eyelids. 

In spite of himself, a contented smile rested upon Snufkin’s lips as he rolled over in the bed. 

The bed. 

All at once, the nomad bolted upright as he remembered where he was, before being overcome with soreness and crumpling to the floor, still tangled in the sheets.

“Well, good morning,” Moominmamma stopped as she passed the doorway. “Oh dear, you look – Let me help you.” 

Trying to breathe through the wave of pain and that nearly suffocated him, Snufkin looked up as Mamma gently guided him back onto the soft mattress. She placed the back of her paw on Snufkin’s forehead. Her warmth and kindness seeped into the traveler’s heart, causing a feeling of safety and comfort to bloom in his chest.

“Hmm. You’re still very warm. Not to mention th… rks…. nd…” Moominmamma’s voice became muffled and distant. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a great fear clutched Snufkin’s lungs, causing him to gasp. He stood abruptly, paying little mind to his blurry vision. 

“Thank you, Moominmamma – I’m feeling much better. I should be going now, s-sorry for the trouble.” He stumbled as he tugged on his overcoat – it was still damp from the night before. 

“What? Now, Snufkin–” Mamma reproached as she followed him downstairs. 

“Oh, hello, young man. Feeling better, are we?” Moominpappa lowered his newspaper at the kitchen table.

“Y..yes, very much.” Snufkin replied.

“Certainly not. Listen, dear, you are still very sick! Please sit down.” Moominmamma placed a paw on Snufkin’s shoulder, who swayed as if a small breeze would knock him over.

It didn’t matter. He had to get out of there. He just had to.

Unfortunately for him, the strength of a protective mother far overpowered that of any stubborn sickling. Moominmamma quickly stepped between him and the door and refused to budge. 

“Move, please. Let me leave.” 

“Darling, listen to me.” Mamma tried.

“No, listen to me! I must go now.” Snufkin moved to sidestep her. When that didn’t work, he tried to move her aside, which very nearly turned to shoving. 

“Snufkin, please.” Moominmamma gently grabbed his hands to stop him. 

Fear, delirium and frustration all combined, Snufkin began to panic as he tried to wriggle out of her grasp. “Let me go!” 

“Snufkin, look at your arms! ” She commanded.

“My … what? My arms…” Snufkin’s gaze focused on his hands, which Moominmamma held firmly in front of him.

Then his stomach plummeted as if it were full of lead. All of the air escaped his lungs. 

“...What?” Snufkin breathed. 

The hair on his forearms had thickened, covering down past his wrists and becoming fine again once near the knuckles. Underneath, his skin seemed undamaged … aside from having shifted to the color of peat. It began at his elbows and became darker near his fingertips. It looked as though he were wearing long, soft gloves. 

Mamma let go and led him to the wall mirror. It was the first time Snufkin had seen his reflection in weeks, and even longer so since he’d used a proper looking glass. 

And heavens, he looked absolutely dreadful. 

Bruises matched the dark circles under his eyes. His hair hadn’t been cut in ages, and it grew long in the back and tickled his eyelashes in the front. His nose bore a stronger pigment than the rest of his sallow complexion. 

Well, now he knew the source of the itchiness. 

“Moominmamma … Moominpappa …” Snufkin’s voice was weak. He sank into a chair, never taking his eyes off of his reflection “Some- thing’s happening to me.”

Chapter Text

Snufkin leaned his cheek on the cool rim of the porcelain tub, sifting his fingertips through the bathwater’s surface. He wasn’t used to bathing in water so warm, aside from the occasional dip in a hot spring. Perhaps if he pretended that the soft bubbles were seafoam, it wouldn’t be as unfamiliar. 

When Moominmamma asked how long it had been since Snufkin had washed, the embarrassment that colored his cheeks answered for him. Insisting that she couldn’t redress the scrape on his hand until it had been cleaned, Mamma quickly drew a bath and blocked any escape routes.

Without any other option, Snufkin did what he could to tidy himself up, using a cloth and some soap that smelled like lemongrass. 

At least he could use this opportunity to further inspect the effects of his strange fever. The painful itching had stopped, thank goodness, but not without leaving a mark. 

The fur and pigmentation continued down his legs, darkening like a sunset as it reached his feet. That wasn’t too bad – he could simply cover those up with slacks and shoes. 

It was his arms, his hands, and his nose that were worrisome. How would he hide those? Maybe he could say he was wearing velvet gloves, and had gotten sunburned on his face. 

Not to mention…

The umber markings swirled around his lower back and extended along his tail.

His tail. 

Yes, Snufkin had a tail.

He’d had one since he was very young, in fact. But it had been easier to hide back then. Now, the wretched thing had a habit of swishing around, and the soft tuft of fur at the end tickled his legs, and it was really incredibly bothersome. Snufkin’s didn’t have tails – not that he had ever met another like himself.

With rekindled frustration, Snufkin sloshed out of the tub and wrapped himself in a towel. He turned to stare at the mirror again. Something about his arms and legs, his nose, that tail… he couldn’t place it, but Snufkin thought the features to be incredibly familiar. 

A gentle knock on the bathroom door startled Snufkin out of his daze. It was Moominmamma, checking on him. 

“One moment, please,” Snufkin called. 

Hastily, he dried off his overgrown auburn hair and pulled on some trousers, hiding his tail inside. The pants were a bit too big – moomin-sized, and not made for a snufkin’s scrawny frame – but a belt helped to keep them snug around his waist. 

He then slipped into the clean shirt Moominmamma had set out for him. It was baggy, but not quite baggy enough. His binding wraps were still too wet, and the shape of his chest was clearly visible from underneath the fabric. 

A twinge of discomfort seized him, but there wasn’t much that could be done about the matter. He finally opened the door after a deep breath. 

“Hello,” Snufkin said politely. He felt sorry for how unreasonably he’d behaved earlier, and found it difficult to look his host in the eyes.

“Better?” Moominmamma’s green eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled. 

“Yes…”

“Good. Let’s take a look at that hand of yours,” She sat Snufkin down on a stool. 

Mamma carefully dabbed the cut with ointment, which made Snufkin wince. But the care and tenderness with which Mamma wrapped his palm in gauze was admittedly calming. 

“You can relax your shoulders, dear.”

“What?” Snufkin hadn’t even noticed that he’d been hunching over. He couldn’t help it. He was used to wearing more protective layers.

“Oh. I… um …”

Moominmamma’s gaze drifted over to the discarded wrapping on the floor near the bathtub. It was worn and filthy, but showed no signs of blood. That meant they weren’t bandages…

Ah.

“I see,” She said gently. 

The young traveler lowered his head with embarrassment and fear. He flinched his hand away from her. What would Moominmamma say? Would she tell the others? What if –

“Snufkin.” 

Snufkin lifted his gaze to see Mamma, paws folded on her aproned lap, her eyes filled with nothing but warmth. 

“What would make you more comfortable?” She asked.

***

The ground outside was soaked through, so Moominpappa searched for his galoshes. Making his way down the hall, he nearly collided with his wife as she closed the washroom door behind her. 

“Under those botany books in your study.” She said, already knowing what he was looking for. 

“Oh. Thank you, Mamma.” Moominpappa hesitated. “How is he?”

Moominmamma sighed and lowered her voice. “He’s alright for now. More troubled than physically hurt. But …” 

“Good, good. That nasty cut had me worried.”

“Those markings … surely you know who he’s reminded you of?” Mamma continued. There was really no point in voicing the question; her husband’s eyes had already told her everything. 

“We told him that we’d discuss it later, and that’s what we’ll do.” Pappa furrowed his eyebrows. “I’d like to be absolutely sure before we tell Snufkin anything – under the botany books, you said?”

“He’s been all over the world, but I don’t believe he knows what’s happening to him. He never knew his family, after all.” Mamma clasped her paws together while Pappa rummaged through his things. 

“But I do.” Pappa tried to keep the anger from his voice as he tugged on his galoshes. “There’s only one way to know for certain. So I’m going to find … him.”

“Surely not right now?” Moominmamma straightened, prepared to argue. 

“Of course not. It’s nearly eight in the morning – I’m going to find the children. I have a feeling I know just where they’ll be. But after that–” Moominpappa gave his wife a peck on the cheek as he passed her in the doorway. “I’ll be heading out tonight.”

“What should I tell everyone?” Mamma asked, her leaf-green eyes following him as he stepped outside.

“Tell them I’m going to visit an old friend.” 

***

Not long before Snufkin woke up that morning, everyone inside the bathhouse had only begun to fall asleep. 

Moomin and Snorkmaiden leaned on each other, having exhausted themselves with laughter. Snorkmaiden snorted when she giggled too hard, which only made matters funnier. Now they both wiped the tears from their eyes – those of both emotion and of amusement – and slumped together by the cupboard, watching rainwater drip through cracks in the ceiling. 

A weight that Moomintroll hadn’t realized he’d been carrying had finally lifted. Like the storm clouds that had finally cleared from the sky.

Him and Snorkmaiden … They were okay. 

It was such a relief. They would leave this bathhouse as close friends – if they ever did leave, that is. How long had they been stuck there? 

Meanwhile, as Sniff and Little My snored, Too-Ticky was taking a head count of her shrew housemates. She held her hand out as they skittered across her lap.

“There’s Alva. Theo, Frans, Merl – good, you’re alright.” Each shrew got little pats as they were counted. “Freja, Ingrid, Berit … where’s Edvin?” 

Snork snapped his head up. “Is someone missing?”

“Too-Ticky?” Snorkmaiden asked sleepily. “Is everything alright?”

Their friend frowned, running a hand through her straw-like hair. “We’re missing someone. Edvin?” She called out. 

“Nonsense. You must have miscounted. Here, let me – there’s eight, yes? One, two…” The Snork began fervently counting. Then he counted again. Then a third time. 

“Oh, no! Do you think he got crushed under something?” Now fully awake, Snorkmaiden sat up and scooted out from the cupboard. The rain had stopped, anyway. 

“I hope not. Surely he must be alright. Edvin? Edvin!” Too-Ticky grew more concerned as she beheld the room. It had practically been turned upside-down by the storm. 

“What’s all this yelling about?” An annoyed voice piped up from under the table. 

“One of the shrews is missing, Little My.” Moomintroll got to his feet and began helping Too-Ticky search. 

“Well, do you see him anywhere?” Sniff”s nose poked out from the tablecloth. 

“They’re invisible, rockbrain!” Little My surfaced from her hideout. The little mymble’s bun had come undone, and she pushed her tangled red hair out of the way. 

“How do you help something that you can’t see?”

“Oh, just try, Sniff! These shrews are like Too-Ticky’s family.” Snorkmaiden carefully stepped around a pile of broken glass. 

“Shouldn’t we be figuring out a way out of here? In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a tree blocking the only door!” Little My crossed her arms.

“Right. I can do that! I’ll think of something.” Snork said. 

“Are you alright?” Snorkmaiden asked him.

Moomintroll crouched down near the toppled bookshelf and perked up an ear. 

“I will be, once I help us out of this mess.” He replied.

Moomin began to dig through the books. “There’s a sound coming from this pile!” 

Snorkmaiden put a paw on her brother’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, you know.” 

There was definitely something there, making a little high-pitched noise. Moomin sifted through Too-Ticky’s book collection as carefully as he could, moving Härskarringen and Anne på Grönkulla to a neat stack on the floor. As Moomin set down Alice’n Seikkailut Ihmemaalla, he found that there was only one book left: Lille Prinsen. 

By now, the Snork siblings had huddled around him. Moomintroll lifted the worn hardcover, which had fallen open in a tent-like shape. Underneath it was…

“Why, it’s just a broken cuckoo clock.” Snork observed. 

“Hold on!” Moomin picked up the clock and put an ear up to the little doorway. At first all he could hear was weak ticking and clicking. 

Then, very faintly: 

Squeak! Squeak!

“It’s Edvin! He’s in there – must have been using it for shelter.” 

“Hmm,” Too-Ticky gently took the clock from Moomintroll’s paws and examined it. “Oh, dear. The wooden bird has broken – it’s stuck in place, blocking the doorway.” 

Moomintroll furrowed his brow. “But … look, see? Part of the clock has broken off in the back. Surely he can escape through there.”

“Invisible shrews are as stubborn as they are clever,” Too-Ticky explained. “Poor Edvin must have gotten so frightened that he doesn’t want to leave.” 

“I don’t understand it. We’ve all had quite the scare, and I’m ready to leave this bathhouse!” Little My said crossly. “I’m starting to feel like the walls are closing in!”

“The word you’re looking for is claustrophobic.” Snork told her.

“Oh, whatever – fine, I feel like the walls are claustrophobic! Just get me outta here!” 

“I wonder what it must be like, being small enough to live inside a clock.” Snorkmaiden stood by Too-Ticky.

“Yeah…” Moomintroll thought for a moment. “Yeah. That’s it!”

Grunting, Moomin shoved the cupboard away from the window (with Snorkmaiden’s help). The wooden muntins that once held glass panes remained intact. That was rather unfortunate – the gaps were too small for even Little My to fit through. But maybe…

“Too-Ticky? I might have an idea.” 

***

“How does it fit?” 

“It’s, um – well, it’s a bit big.” Snufkin couldn’t help but chuckle a little as he rolled up the sleeves. He turned to the side as he studied his reflection. “But I believe it does the trick.” 

Snufkin stepped out for Moominmamma to see.

“Oh, you look very nice indeed! How do you feel?” She smiled. 

The compliment embarrassed Snufkin a little, but he ran his hands over the soft knit fabric. It was blue as the night sky and made of thick wool – and it obscured his chest perfectly. He smiled in spite of himself. 

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” With another contemplative glance down at his forearms, Snufkin pulled the sleeves over his wrists to hide the dark fur. 

It’s so strange, but Moominmamma doesn’t seem concerned. I wonder if she has ever seen anything like this before …

He was about to voice this question when Moominmamma spoke up first. 

“That’s Moomin’s sweater, you know.”

Moomintroll’s…

That calm voice of Mamma’s didn’t matter – Snufkin felt as though he’d been struck by lightning. All at once, a million thoughts and fears swarmed his brain. He’d been forcing himself not to think about Moomin, but it was unavoidable now. This was tearing him apart.

Frozen in place, he eventually was able to force a single question from his lips. 

.

.

.

“Where is he?” Snufkin asked carefully, quietly. 

Moominmamma’s eyes shifted to the front door. “I am … not quite sure.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well … Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sure he’ll be back any moment now.” Mamma decided it best not to voice her concerns. She didn’t want to upset Snufkin. She looked up from the sewing book she was referencing to read his expression, and was surprised. 

He looked terrified.

“Any moment now?” 

Oh, no. No, this was too soon. Snufkin wondered if Mamma would try to stop him if he fled. 

“Snufkin? What’s wrong? I thought you’d be eager to see him – where are you going?” 

“Excuse me, I need to –” His socked feet nearly slipped on the hardwood as Snufkin backed away. “I forgot something upstairs.” 

*** 

“You fool,” Snufkin muttered bitterly to himself as he grabbed his backpack. “What were you thinking?”

He shouldn’t have come here – he wasn’t in his right mind. He needed to leave, right now.

Moomintroll clearly didn’t know Snufkin was here yet – otherwise he would have seen him by now – and Snufkin intended to keep it that way. If he saw Moomin, he knew he wouldn’t have the nerve to leave again. 

No. This was for the best. What point was there in seeing the angry, hurt expressions of the people he loved most? 

Snufkin wanted to leave Moomintroll’s sweater behind – it would only be a reminder. Groke, it even faintly smelled like his friend – like sea salt and pine. But his old clothes were still soaked through, leaving him nothing else to wear. 

There was a good reason he hadn’t returned the spring before. He couldn’t let himself forget again.

He stuffed his few belongings into his bag, placed that green hat upon his head, and made way for the window. Surely Moomintroll still kept a rope ladder there.

As Snufkin climbed up onto the windowsill, he took one last look around Moomin’s bedroom. If he succeeded, this would be the last time Snufkin ever laid eyes on it.

“Goodbye, Moomintroll.” He whispered, turning to leave.

A small glint of light shone into his eye. Blinking, Snufkin glanced back to find the source – what was –

Oh.

Oh, Protector-Of-Small-Beasts.

His backpack slid off of his shoulders and landed on the floor with a gentle thump. Snufkin’s stomach dropped as he slowly stepped away from the window and walked over to the bedside table. 

There was a small object sitting right by Moomintroll’s bed, collecting dust. 

He’d kept it there. All this time.

Oh, dear. Snufkin felt hot tears fill his eyes. He knelt by the nightstand, picked up the object, and began to cry. 

Gently cradled in Snufkin’s hand was his old harmonica.

Chapter Text

TWO NOVEMBERS EARLIER…

Snufkin exhaled happily, watching his breath form in front of him in little puffs. It had been days since the crunching of snow had left his ears; even so, the air wouldn’t warm until he’d traveled further south.

Oh, the landscape was beautiful. To his right, rolling fields of wildflowers rippled in the wind, ceasing only at the edge of a dense forest. If he looked left, Snufkin could see the ocean thrashing against jagged stone cliffs. The overcast sky broke up near the horizon, allowing for a bright sliver of blue. And a strong sea breeze whipped about playfully, threatening to knock the traveler’s hat off his head. It was absolutely splendid. 

Of course, Snufkin might have enjoyed it more if he could stop thinking about Moominvalley. 

It was getting ridiculous, truly. Every little thing reminded him of his friends. That Moomintroll-shaped cloud. Those tulips that could easily pass as Little My’s hair. Snufkin sighed as he passed a cluster of snowdrop flowers. There was some lovely flora here. Perhaps he could bring some back to show Moomin.

Ugh! He couldn’t even look at flowers without thinking of him! 

As wonderful as it felt to be alone again, a tiny ache now followed him around. It settled in his stomach and pushed up against his heart whenever he departed from Moominvalley. Snufkin wasn’t sure when that had started, but the feeling grew stronger each year. He didn’t understand it, and he certainly didn’t like it.

Ever since bidding his friends farewell, Snufkin’s last meeting with Moomin had consumed his thoughts. Was it the right decision to give away his harmonica? Part of Snufkin couldn’t believe he’d done that. Now he couldn’t play any music, or draft a spring tune.

…But then he’d think again of the smile on Moomintroll’s face – the way those blue eyes lit up like moonlight shining on water. How he held the harmonica so gently, as if it were a piece of Snufkin’s soul. That look he always gave him, like Snufkin was the most extraordinary thing in this world.

The vagabond had traveled all over the land. He’d seen incredible things and met extraordinary people. And yet, out of all the world’s wonders, Moomin’s smile was by far most breathtaking sight. After all, he returned to the valley year after year, just to see that wonderful troll.

And to see all his other friends too, of course.

TWO FEBRUARIES EARLIER…

It was a warm night. Frogs and toads ribbited and croaked. Stars twinkled above the forest’s canopy, and Snufkin approached a secluded little outpost. He strolled through the quiet cobblestone streets, listening to bugs chitter from the woods. 

It had been a little while since Snufkin had made any stops like this. Strange, he used to visit towns far more often.

“The imprints of these worn old shoes

With hope, help guide a fellow bemused.”

The couplet slipped from the traveler’s lips as easily as breathing. Without any musical instruments to play, Snufkin had been trying on his old poet’s hat, so to speak. He’d composed poetry all the time when he was younger, after all.

The sun would be on the rise soon, with the night sky already lightening in spite of itself. Strangely, there was no birdsong. In fact, the further Snufkin wandered into town, the less he heard. Now the only sounds were two boots tapping against stone, and the occasional soft stanza. Snufkin normally abhorred noisy places. But he found the silence here off-putting for some reason. He couldn't shake the feeling that the whole village was holding its breath.

If that were the case, the town was also squeezing its eyes shut. Anyone who didn’t have Snufkin’s night eyes would have trouble navigating the dark streets. The street lamps had long been snuffed out. In fact, there seemed to be one light in the whole place – a warm flickering could be seen in someone’s window.

Step. Step. Step. 

Splish. 

Snufkin sighed, lifting his foot from a rain puddle in the cobblestone. His backpack was still damp from the morning dew, and chilliness seeped into his back. Even here, the air was brisk before sunrise. And it was too quiet. 

“The sadness from a journey’s end

Such is the price of seeing an old friend.”

Snufkin was muttering to himself, now, weaving rhymes out of anything that popped into his head. It was soothing. He rubbed at an itch on his nose and was trying to rhyme the word ‘mångata’ when a voice interrupted his soliloquy. 

“That sounds lovely. What’s it about?”

The vagabond snapped his head up, startled. He discovered two things at that moment. First, he’d reached the candle-lit building. And second, peering down at him from the windowsill were two bright eyes. Upon further inspection, they belonged to a child whose hair was the color of corn silk and stuck up in all different directions. 

“Who are you?” Snufkin finally said, recovering from his surprise.

“Are you a traveling bard?” The light-haired troll asked, ignoring Snufkin’s own question.

“… I suppose I am.” After all, he’d never decided he wasn’t a bard. 

“Can you say another poem?”

“Uhm. No, I’m sorry.” Snufkin shook his head. 

“Will you say one for me if I give you some bread?” 

Without waiting for an answer, the young troll disappeared from the windowsill. They returned moments later with a small loaf of fresh bread — the French sort, a baguette. Snufkin’s stomach growled as the pleasant smell filled his senses. It reminded him of Moominmamma’s cooking. 

The pale blues and pinks of sunrise had just begun to tickle the sky, shedding dusty light on the shingles, the shutters, and the small hand that was offering him baked goods. Snufkin finally noticed that the child was wearing an apron, and flour speckled their arms and face.

“You’re a baker?” Snufkin asked.

“I’m the baker.” The Baker replied, dropping the bread into Snufkin’s hand.

Ah, that explains why they’re awake so early. Bakers always rise before dawn.

“But you’re just a child.” Snufkin knew it was silly to judge. He’d been younger than this fellow when he started a nomad’s life. Not that he’d had much of a choice – Fillyjonk orphanages were not a very comfortable place to be. 

The young baker pouted. “That’ll be three kronor.”

“Oh.” Snufkin looked down at the bread loaf he was holding. “Wait a moment, I never said–”

“It’s too late, you’ve touched it. I can’t sell it to anyone else now. Those are the rules.” 

Snufkin simply stared, astonished.

“I also accept markka.” 

The unwilling customer huffed. He rarely carried money around – what was the use if he never bought anything? But he couldn't very well take the food without paying.

Snufkin’s took a breath and softened his voice. “You said you wanted to hear some poetry?” 

The Baker’s face lit up, but they quickly tried to conceal their excitement. “At least two poems should cover it,” They said in an official tone.

“Alright then.” Snufkin found himself smiling.

And as the sun finally lifted above the treetops, the younger troll rested their chin in their hands and listened. The first poem was about a baker and a bard. 

***

“In the seas and in the skies,

Shines the beauty of those eyes.”

“Whose eyes?”

“Hm?” Snufkin blinked at the little Baker, who was now leaning halfway out the window.

“Your eyes are brown, not blue. Mine are a grey sort of color. Is it about someone you know?”

“Somewh– oh. Oh. No one, it’s about no one. It’s just a poem.” He quickly explained.

“Is it the ‘old friend’ you mentioned earlier?” 

This child had a lot of questions.

“‘Scuse me, I actually… have somewhere to be. I believe that was two poems. Thank you for the bread.” Snufkin said hurriedly, tugging the brim of his hat over his eyes. 

“What are you–” 

The Baker was cut off by another voice. “Alby, who are you talking to? What have you done with the bread?”

Snufkin left before he could hear the rest. His feet took him all the way to the edge of town, where he finally paused and realized he’d been squeezing the bread too tightly. It was now a bow-shaped lump, but still edible. He took a big bite. 

Goodness. Perhaps he’d have to return to this place. A pastry for a poem wasn’t a bad bargain, after all. 

ONE AUGUST EARLIER…

Snufkin never did return. Young Alby had waited and listened every morning, hoping to hear another poem or two. Or footsteps, or whistling, or – anything. Anything to indicate that their friend had come back to visit. Even now, as they worked in the kitchen, the baker thought of Snufkin, and the blue-eyed troll he spoke of. He must have wonderful friends that he cares for deeply. Perhaps that is why he’d gone – to see them. 

They had no way of knowing that the bard had done quite the opposite, forsaking Moominvalley and those who lived in it. They didn’t know that Snufkin, wherever he was, hadn’t stayed in one town for more than a night, and he hadn’t spoken to a soul in months. Hopefully, Alby would never know that Snufkin hadn’t composed a single new poem. 

So for now, as bread rose in the oven and light rose over the trees, Alby sat in the wooden windowsill, closed their eyes, and listened. While softly-spoken prose no longer blessed the quiet streets, a new sound filled the morning silence. Every day, since the bard had left town, the nearby woods were brimming with birdsong. 

Now, dear reader, you must be wondering, why didn't Snufkin return to the valley in the spring, as he’d always done?

Well, it all began when he met The Joxter. 

Chapter Text

Moominpappa huffed as he tromped down to the bathhouse, taking care to avoid fallen branches. “That fool,” He grumbled. “He’d better hope I’m wrong about this – for his sake.”

He couldn’t be. He had to be. The resemblance was too great. Over the years, Pappa had grown terribly fond of the young vagabond who’d befriended his family. Snufkin had always been kind, resourceful, and terribly wise for his age. But even after all these years, he was an enigma above anything else.

Moominpappa knew very little of Snufkin’s life outside of Moominvalley. He’d heard once before how the boy had been left on his own as a baby, and had silently cursed whoever could have abandoned such a wonderful young troll. To think that it could be– 

The old moomin yelped as one of his galoshes caught on something, nearly sending him tumbling. He managed to regain his footing, but his hat had been knocked off of his head.

“Goodness,” He sighed. “I ought to watch where I’m going. I must not be as perceptive as I once was.”

He bent down to retrieve his hat, hoping it hadn’t been too dirtied, only for it to slide away from his reach. Moominpappa realized then that there were no holes, stones, or trip-inducing sticks in sight. He watched in confusion as his hat moved in a circle around his feet before skidding down the hill, toward the beach.

Pappa remembered himself. “Hey! Now wait just a minute!” 

He followed after his runaway top hat, quickly snatching it up before it could go any further. 

Closing one eye, he inspected the inside to see what the hat’s form of locomotion was. But it was empty, save for the inscription from Moominmamma inside. He turned it upside-down and shook it out, but nothing fell. So, he set it down once again (partially to test a theory, and partially out of fear that the hat was enchanted). Soon enough, the brim tipped up on one side and it started to move again.

He followed the hat for a few more paces before scooping it up like a basket. He thought for a moment, then tapped his pipe, emptying a bit of soot into the bowl of his hat. It sprinkled down, landing a few centimeters above the bottom.

“Oh. Hello, there.” He gently tipped the hat, and a few small, soft, soot-covered shapes fell into his paw. “You must be Too-Ticky’s house shrews. What are you doing here? I’m terribly sorry for dirtying you, I suppose.”

“Squeak! Squeak!” 

Something tapped against his foot, and Pappa deduced from the little indents in the grass that several more shrews awaited his attention. 

“Oh, dear. Why aren’t you at the bathhouse? Did Too-Ticky send you? Is she in danger? Are the children with her?” 

“Squeak!” The shrews said.

“Good thing you found me, then. Were you trying to bring me to them? Well, I was already on my way.” 

“Squeak, chirp-squeak!” 

“What? Oh, right, yes. We should get going.”

Moominpappa held out his hat, and felt it grow slightly heavy as more shrews hopped in to reunite with their siblings. He set off purposefully toward the beach, glancing down at his sooty passengers. 

“…Weren’t there eight of you?”

*** 

The bustle of tiny footfalls faded as Too-Ticky’s tiny housemates (Alva, Berit, Frans, Freja, Ingrid, Merl, and Theo) squeezed themselves through the gap in the window.

“You brave little shrews are the only ones small enough to fit,” Moomintroll had told them, holding Edvin’s cuckoo clock carefully in his arms. “Go to Moominhouse – you know where that is, right? Please, go get help.”

Everyone listened until they were certain the invisible shrews had escaped. 

The first thing Little My said was, “Great. They get to leave? How will they get anyone’s attention when they’re invisible?”

“I think we’ll just have to trust them, My.” Moomin replied, lifting the clock up to his face. “As for you, Edvin, won’t you come out? Your brothers and sisters could use your help.”

He deflated when Edvin didn’t so much as squeak in reply. 

“What time is it? I’m hungry.” Sniff asked. 

“Hmm,” Too-Ticky walked over to the window. “It’s a quarter past eight. Sorry, Sniff. I meant to restock today.”

“Oh, Too-Ticky, I’m so sorry – look at this place.” Snorkmaiden frowned at the torn-apart room. “I promise, we’ll tidy this place up before the shrews come back.” 

With the sun fully up, they all assessed the damage. It was going to be a hefty task.

Then, Little My’s lips twisted into a mischievous smile. “I bet I can clean it the fastest.” 

Snorkmaiden recognized that spark in My’s eye. She smiled. “Really, then? We’ll see about that. I bet I can do better.”

“You’re forgetting that there’s a master organizer in the room.” Snork stood up. 

“I’ll be on Snorkmaiden’s team.” Moomin called out, and Snorkmaiden grinned at him.

Snork made an indignant noise. “Who said anything about teams?”

Everyone turned to Sniff, who groaned. 

“Alright, alright.” He relented. “But if I find food, I’m keeping it!”

***

Snufkin let out a shaky breath as he composed himself. Goodness, he hadn’t cried like that since … Well. It had been a long time. Sniffling, he rose from the patterned carpet and glanced at his reflection again. Oh, splendid, now his eyes were all red and puffy. 

Alright, then. That was enough of that. 

He ran a hand – or paw, rather – down his face and smiled at the mirror. It hurt a bit to force the corners of his mouth upwards; he let them fall again. Before reaching for the doorknob, Snufkin glanced back at the nightstand, and after a short hesitation, slipped his old harmonica into his pocket. 

Slowly he made his way downstairs, arms wrapped around himself. 

“Moominmamma?” He called softly, voice rough, looking around the kitchen. Snufkin padded around the house, eventually finding her in the sewing room. On the desk, a custom pattern lay sketched out on some paper, but Mamma gazed out the window and paid it no mind. 

“Moominmamma.” Snufkin repeated patiently. Mamma turned to him.

“Something’s the matter. Please tell me what it is.” Snufkin locked his eyes on hers, begging for the truth and afraid of it all the same.

Moominmamma rose, moving to gently hold his shoulders. Despite the reassuring gesture, her face was weary. “Oh, Snufkin. I didn’t want to worry you. Moomin and the others – they’ve been missing since last night.” 

***

“You keep wandering over to that clock. Are you okay?” Snorkmaiden asked him.

Moomintroll frowned, holding the dustpan while Snorkmaiden swept bits of broken glass. “Edvin won’t come out, no matter what I say. Nothing seems to work.”

“Oh. Hmm … Have you tried offering him food? Maybe he’s hungry.” 

“I doubt there’d be anything left to offer,” Moomin chuckled, glancing over at Sniff. 

Sniff had found a bit of cheese from the back of Too-Ticky’s cupboard, and finished it off almost immediately. Too-Ticky didn’t mind, saying it was old cheese anyway. 

Snorkmaiden laughed as they both watched Little My and Snork argue over the proper way to set a table. “When we get out of this bathhouse, you know what we should do?”

“What?”

“What do you say we finally take that bark boat of yours sailing?”

Thus commenced the side quest – in addition to cleaning, Moomin and Snorkmaiden used all the sticks and leaves that littered the bathhouse for bark boat construction. Moomin’s original from the day before had almost certainly been destroyed in the storm, anyhow. He proudly stuck a yellow-and-green leaf onto the stick mast. Seeing the fantastic bark boat, Little My decided she also wanted one. Then Sniff, too.

And soon enough the room was completely clean, as any material that could be used to upgrade a bark boat had been quickly scouted out, traded, and used. 

As they put the finishing touches on the Oshun Oxtra II, Sniff piped up. “Do you hear that?”

Everyone perked up their ears. Sure enough, a voice came from outside the lighthouse. “Hello? Children? Too-Ticky? Are you in there?”

Little My scrambled to the window. “It’s us, Moominpappa!” She hollered.

Pappa’s face appeared. “Good heavens, are you alright?”

“No, I’m hungry!” Sniff said.  

“Shut it, Sniff!” Little My barked.

“We’re all okay, Pappa! But can you get us out of here?” Moomin called out. 

“I can’t, there’s a tree keeping the door shut! It’s far too large for me to lift.” 

The Snork walked over to the door, rubbing his chin. Moomin noticed that at some point, Snork’s glasses had been chipped. “Moominpappa, would you do something for me?” 

“Of course, what is it?”

“Are there any large rocks nearby that you can move?” Snork called out. 

After a pause in which Pappa presumably looked around for large rocks, he responded. “Yes, there’s that one that Too-Ticky sometimes uses as a doorstop.”

“We’ll just need a beam, then.” Snork muttered, mostly to himself. 

“What are you doing?” Snorkmaiden tilted her head.

The Snork turned to her, eyes shining. “Physics. It’s elementary, my dear sister.”

“What?” Snickered My. 

“So, the lever.” Snork thought hard. “No wooden branch or plank could be strong enough, so we’ll need to use something else. Ah!” He exclaimed suddenly, making everyone jump.

But they let him think. Anybody would know better than to interrupt the Snork while he was thinking. 

He then looked back up and spoke to Moominpappa through the door. “Mr. Moominpappa, I want you to go further down the beach until you find some metal jutting out of the water and the sand. Take off a pipe, no smaller than 200 centimeters, and bring it back here.”

Moomin blinked. “Wait, what? You want to take apart your machine?” 

A disappointed look flitted across Snork’s face, but he waved Moomin’s comment away. “It’s my fault we’re in this mess; it seems only fitting that I should get us out of it.”

“I already told you, that wasn’t your fault!” Something in Snorkmaiden’s voice dared her brother to argue. “If anything, it was mine! I made you use the machine before it was ready.”

“Fine, then we’ll blame Mother Nature if it’ll make you feel better. Besides, I can always rebuild it. Mr. Moominpappa, did you get that? Mr. Moominpappa?”

But by that point, Pappa had already set off down the beach.

***

“I wish you would stop hiding.” Moomintroll lay on his stomach, resting his chin in his arms and talking to the broken cuckoo clock, also known as Edvin’s temporary lodging. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore. We’d all love to see you – well, you’re invisible, but you know what I mean.”

“Moomin! Pappa’s back, come on!”

“I have to go now, my friends need me. I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.” The troll pushed himself up and joined the others.

The Snork and Moominpappa had managed to feed the metal pole through a narrow space between the front door and its frame. Pappa tucked one end under the fallen tree trunk, and made sure the pole balanced on the fulcrum (as Snork called it. Everyone else just called it a rock). 

“Ready?” Snork turned to everyone, who put their paws or hands onto their end of the metal pipe. “Push!” 

They all shoved their weight down on the lever, hollering as if that would somehow make them stronger.

“Now!” Snork yelled in a strained voice. Too-Ticky pushed against the door while Moominpappa pulled at the fallen tree trunk, which now hovered a few centimeters above the ground.

There was some scuffling, a grunt, and finally a large snapping thud as the trunk was moved away from the door, leaving enough room for it to open. Daylight poured in through the space, and they all collapsed on the floor from the effort.

“The outside world! I’ve so missed you!” Sniff was the first one out, pushing past the others and scampering through the doorway. Little My was next, and though she gave the fallen tree a spiteful kick, she was smiling as Moominpappa helped her climb over it. 

Too-Ticky and Moominpappa exchanged warm welcomes and thank-yous, and she chuckled as he handed her a hat full of sooty shrews.

Snorkmaiden sighed with relief, moving to leave when she paused, turning back inside. “Moomin?”

He sat quietly, looking between the Oshun Oxtra II and the doorway. It dawned on Snorkmaiden just how much had happened overnight. Amidst all the danger, there had been outbursts, revelations, resolutions, difficult conversations — It must all be terribly overwhelming for Moomin. The look on his face now – Snorkmaiden couldn’t place it.

“...Well now, what is it you’re feeling?” She stood before him.

He looked up, and seemed to consider saying something foolish like “I’m fine”, before he thought better of it. She’d be able to tell, anyway. “I don’t know,” He replied honestly. 

Pappa called through the door, worried that they hadn’t emerged.

“We’re coming!” She replied, before sitting down on the wooden floor next to her friend. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at him patiently. 

Finally, Moomintroll said what he was thinking. “When we go back out there … things won’t be the same as they were before, will they?” 

She softened. “No, they won’t.” 

He nodded, gaze fixated on his fiddling paws.

“They’ll be better.” 

He gave her a hopeful look, and there it was. He smiled and for a moment he looked just like his younger self.

Snorkmaiden’s eyes suddenly widened. Moomintroll was about to ask her what was wrong, when he felt the light pressure of four tiny paws on his knee. 

He sucked in a breath. Then, ever-so-slowly, he lowered his hand for the tiny shrew to climb onto. His whiskers tickled Moomin’s palm a little, but he didn’t mind. In fact, the gesture almost made Moomintroll tear up, though he wasn’t sure why.

Snorkmaiden’s warm brown eyes practically glowed. “I guess he just needed some time.” 

She stood then, dusting herself off and extending a paw for him. Moomin placed Edvin carefully on his shoulder, and let Snorkmaiden help him up. She bumped his other shoulder playfully and he grinned, giving her paw an affectionate squeeze before letting go and stepping outside.

“Gosh, it’s brighter out than I remembered.” She squinted, holding up an arm to shade her eyes from the sun. 

“Well,” Moominpappa clapped his paws together. “We’d best get going to Moominhouse. They’re very worried for you up there.” 

They? Moomin questioned, but he wasn’t given the chance to ask about it. Because right then, Edvin hopped off of his shoulder, knocked the bark boat to the ground, and promptly took off with it.

“Wh– hey! Edvin, come back!” He ran after the little boat, which seemed to be sailing itself across the grass and up the hill. 

“Moomin, wait!” Sniff protested, and everyone rushed to follow their friend and the invisible shrew.

***

Klock, klock, klock – thmph. 

These were the sounds of Snufkin’s boots, which he had tugged on without bothering to lace them, as they hastened down the porch steps and landed in the sodden grass. Here he was, running again. But not away this time. No, not this time. Towards. The fear that weighed down his stomach had been forgotten and he only had eyes for where he was going.

Snufkin was running to the beach, but he would have crossed the Lonely Mountains. He would have kept running and running until he reached the dark waters at the ends of the earth. Until he forgot where he’d been and where he was headed.

Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – he did not have to travel so far. 

Fatigued and dehydrated, Snufkin wobbled and stumbled onto the still-wet ground. His borrowed trousers got mud on the knees – knees Snufkin was pretty certain were now scraped. Undeterred, he pushed himself up to move again.

Tmph, tmph, tm—

This was the sound of Snufkin coming to a dead halt. He gasped, taking in the sight of seven, equally-breathless trolls standing in front of him.

And two wide, bluer-than-blue eyes locked with Snufkin’s. 

Chapter Text

It took Moomin a few seconds longer than the others to process what he was seeing. When he finally did, all of the air instantly flew out of his lungs.

Snufkin. 

There was no spring tune, no warning.

Snufkin. 

The one and only, the vagabond, musician, and Moomin’s best friend in the whole world. The boy who he’d only just realized he might love. So many emotions came crashing upon Moomintroll in such an instant, it almost made him dizzy. Was this a dream? He didn’t think – well –

He didn’t think that he would ever see Snufkin again.

Yet here he was. 

And he looked different.

Moomin recalled the last time they’d faced each other. The fading, cool winter light; the snowflakes that fell on both of their noses; the quiet, pensive sadness and resolution that occupied Snufkin’s expression whenever he left the valley. 

In that moment, Moomintroll thought he saw the last of his friend’s distant nature fall away, after years of patient progress. In that brief moment, he let Moomin see his true self, the epitome of everything that made Snufkin… Snufkin. 

And then he left.

That was over a year ago.

Now, his carefree hair had grown long like wildgrass, brushing the sides of his jaw. His nose – which was endearingly small by troll standards but large compared to the rest of his features – looked as though it had been sunburnt. And his eyes … Groke, those normally heavy-lidded brown eyes were snapped wide open, rimmed pink and carrying heavy dark circles.

But the biggest difference, the thing that shook Moomin the most was the look on his face. 

He just sat there in the grass, mouth agape, looking for all the world like a fawn cornered by hunters. Moomintroll had seen Snufkin upset before, even afraid. But never as afraid as this, and certainly never of him. Despite their proximity in age, Snufkin had always had an air of maturity about him. Certain, calm, collected. The person in front of him looked as if his friend had been broken apart like a vase and hastily glued back together, leaving him smaller and more jagged than before.

Moomin should say something. The problem was, what could he possibly say? He had a million questions. More than a million. But he thought better than to ask, so he settled with the only word that his mind could conjure up. 

*** 

“Snufkin?” Moomintroll whispered.

Groke. Oh, Groke. Snufkin was going to be sick. He’d never heard Moomin’s voice so painfully soft. 

Was this a nightmare? He’d woken up in a cold sweat many times after dreaming about this exact encounter. He never dared to dream about a happy outcome to this, so now all that was left was dread. 

Snufkin had to say something. He had to say something. He owed them that much. And Moomin was looking as if he were afraid of scaring him away. 

He swallowed, throat dry. The name fell from his lips and landed heavily in the grass. “Moomintroll.” 

No one said another word. Snufkin was positive they could all hear his heart drumming in his chest. Moomin’s white fur was clumped together from drying and he was covered with what looked like tree fragments. But Snufkin thought he looked wonderful nonetheless.

It was so hard to see him. It was so hard how easy it was to be near him. Their friendship was like muscle memory, but it was if they were both going against their instincts.

“Moomintroll,” He said again, beginning to stand. “I… oh, Moomin, I am so sor– AAGH!” 

“Little My, no!”

Now everyone rushed forward, as Little My tackled her half-brother back to the ground.

“Are you kidding me?! You just decide to waltz in here after– after I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW LONG, and you expect us to accept a ‘sorry’? Do you EVEN KNOW what you put Moomin– put ALL OF US through?” She shook him back and forth.

“My– My–” Snufkin tried to contain his older sister’s swatting hands, but she just resorted to kicking instead. 

“My, stop it!” Snorkmaiden and Sniff tried to pry her off. 

“I hope you eat dirt! You’re gonna wish I was still trapped in that bathhouse! You stupid, rotten halfwit hobo–” 

“Little My–” Snufkin started again, when My rudely grabbed his lower lip. She looked him straight in the face, voice wavering but eyes burning with fury. “I thought you were gone.” 

Suddenly her face crumpled, and Snorkmaiden took the opportunity to haul her back. She embraced the tiny mymble, feeling hot, angry tears leaking from her friend’s eyes.

Distraught and more disheveled than ever, Snufkin thoughtlessly accepted a paw to help him up. “Little My, I didn’t …” 

He then realized that it was Moomin he was still holding. He quickly snatched his hand away, regretting it when he saw Moomintroll’s disappointed expression.

I abandoned him. I hurt him in a way he never could have deserved. And he’s still kind to me anyway. If Snufkin hadn’t just cried himself tearless… I really am rotten. 

“I’m so sorry,” He croaked, this time directing his apology at everyone.

“Snufkin…” Snorkmaiden looked him up and down. “What happened to you? You have–” 

Instinctively, he whipped his tail behind him and pulled his sleeves over his hands. Drat. Snufkin had entirely forgotten that his tail was exposed. This isn’t how he’d wanted them to find out, if ever. Had they seen it? If they did, no one mentioned it.

“Oh, thank goodness!” A voice sounded from behind him. It was Moominmamma, who had finally caught up with him. She briefly put a paw on Snufkin’s shoulder, but soon her attention was directed at her son.

“Mamma!” Moomintroll smiled as she wrapped him up in a hug, which he happily reciprocated. “I– you– Snufkin’s here?”

“Yes, he is. Are you alright?” She held his face and checked for scrapes or bruises before moving on to Sniff, Little My, and even the Snorks. 

“They’re fine, Mamma.” Pappa assured, putting a paw on her shoulder. “Too-Ticky took good care of them.”

“Aye, I’d say they cared for me and the shrews just as much.” Too-Ticky said.

Moominmamma regarded Snufkin with a gentle concern, but didn’t push. She looked around at the faces of astonishment and confusion – and anxiety on Snufkin’s part – and did what all hostesses do best.

“Who wants breakfast?” 

*** 

There wasn’t enough room at the kitchen table, so everyone spread out and spilled into the drawing room. Mamma, Pappa, and Too-Ticky sat together with coffee mugs. Snork distributed plates of pancakes to everyone, and Sniff “helped to lighten the load”, which really meant eating more than his fill. Meanwhile, his sister kept an arm around Little My, who had gone quiet and refused to look at Snufkin where he sat next to Moomin on the sofa.

Despite not having eaten in hours, Snufkin really wasn’t hungry. He forced a few bites to smooth the worry off of Moominmamma’s face, but for the most part just pushed his food around with a fork. He could feel Moomin’s eyes on him, but couldn’t bring himself to look back. 

“Is that… my sweater?” His friend eventually asked.

“Oh… Yes, I’m sorry. Moominmamma gave it to me since my clothes were wet. I– I’m sorry, I didn’t ask her to.” Snufkin rushed.

“No, no! I don’t mind!” Moomintroll flushed. He didn’t mind at all. 

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Oh, good. That’s… thank you. I’ll give it back as soon as I can.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself.” 

Another painfully awkward pause. 

Moomintroll knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. He was afraid that if he blinked, Snufkin might disappear into thin air. But he was really here. 

“So…” Moominpappa drew the word out and cleared his throat. “That was quite the storm last night, wasn’t it?” 

No one responded. Moomin and Snufkin were now caught in an agonizing loop in which they’d wish the other would look their way, only to lose courage and avert their gaze the moment it happened.

Sniff had done his best – mostly – to give Snufkin space against his raging curiosity. But he had eaten all his pancakes and finished licking the syrup off his plate, so now not even an empty stomach could distract him. 

“Snufkin, what happened to you, anyway? And where’d you get those gloves? They look real nice.” 

Snufkin shifted uncomfortably, and Snorkmaiden gave Sniff a sharp look. “You don’t need gloves, Sniff,” She said.

“They’re not gloves. I can’t take them off.” Snufkin spoke up.

His friends waited for him to go on. After a moment, he sighed and held them out for the others to see, though he subconsciously shrank under the attention.

Snufkin’s absence of fur on his body was uncommon among trolls, but not unheard of. Everyone had simply just assumed that that’s the way all snufkins were. But now, his once pale, calloused hands were sleek like a fox’s paw, the hair thinning near his elbows. And when Snufkin criss-crossed his legs on the couch, the same fur appeared between his socks and the hemline of his trousers. 

“Rarey,” Sniff remarked in wonder. 

“And the tail?” Snork made his way over. When met with apprehensive glances, he rolled his eyes. “What, are we just meant to pretend that we all didn’t notice?”

“Were you bitten by a werewolf?” Sniff’s eyes grew wide.

Snorkmaiden nudged him disapprovingly, but Snufkin just offered a pained smile. “No. I was born with it.” 

“You were? How come you’ve kept it hidden from us?” Snorkmaiden asked. When she was younger, she might have felt offended by the secret. But now, only genuine curiosity colored her features. In a literal sense, too — curiosity apparently takes on a light purple. 

Snufkin shrugged. An unsatisfying answer, to say the least.

Moomin, on the other hand, felt his stomach sink. He’d thought he knew everything there was to know about Snufkin. They were best friends; they told each other most everything. Had he done something to make Snufkin feel like he had to hide that part of himself?

Seeing Moomin deflate a bit, Snufkin stood up and brought his half-empty plate to the kitchen. His stomach clenched at the thought of eating anymore. Instead, he snuck back upstairs and retrieved his hat, which he pulled firmly over his head. The way it obscured his face a little brought him some comfort.

As he came back downstairs, he nearly tripped on something. Looking down, that something was an exquisitely crafted bark boat. And it was moving by itself. 

Spellbound only for a moment, Snufkin crouched down and lifted the boat. There was an indignant squeak, before a small mound of fluff plopped into his hand. Despite himself, he smiled. It was funny, after all. 

“Would anyone happen to know this ship’s tiny commandeer?” He let the amusement quell his apprehension as he walked back into the drawing room, placing the small beast on top of the bark boat as carefully as he could.

Moomin lit right back up, almost having forgotten about his boat in all the excitement. “Oh, right! Edvin was the one who brought us back here so quickly.” As the bark boat passed to his hands, the invisible shrew skittered along his arm and sat himself on Moomintoll’s shoulder, who chuckled.

“The Oshun Oxtra II.” He said proudly. 

At this, Moominpappa looked over. “I didn’t realize you were paying attention to those stories. It was meant to be the Ocean Orchestra, but the Muddler spelled it wrong, so we pretended it was on purpose.” His gaze drifted over to Snufkin. There was another troll whom he’d sailed the Oshun Oxtra with.

“Oh! Shall we take it sailing?” Snorkmaiden asked excitedly. She looked to Moomin, who looked to Snufkin.

Snufkin’s stomach untwisted a bit. He strode over to the open window and checked the wind, then turned to them with a little grin. “Weather’s alright for it. And after all that rain, I’d say the river is flowing well.” 

“Wonderful! We’ll have to go and get the rest of our boats from the bathhouse, of course.” Snorkmaiden tugged at her brother’s arm.

“But we just walked all the way up here,” Sniff whined. 

“We could make it a race.” The Snork thought out loud. This piqued everyone’s interest. 

“Alright, a race then! What’s the prize?” Sniff asked, immediately more enthusiastic. 

“We’ll figure that out when we get there.” Snufkin was already in the doorway. He caught Moominmamma’s eye, who gave him a smile and a small nod of permission.

Now that was settled, everyone turned to the smallest mymble, who had busied herself with eating three-and-a-half whole pancakes. “Little My?” Snufkin asked, a bit apprehensively.

The tiny redhead crossed her arms and tried to stare daggers at Snufkin, but they both knew that she wanted to go. 

“Fine,” She scoffed. “But don’t think this means I’m done with you.” She said menacingly as she ran after them.

***

The funny thing is, they never did figure out a prize. There was no great disaster that prevented the group this time, though. It was that with the sun climbing higher and warming their faces, with the stressful escapades of the night before, and after the enthusiastic dash to the river, the trolls were simply exhausted.

The little boats bobbed idly in the water, bumping into each other occasionally. Edvin had decided he owned the Oshun Oxtra II, squeaking excitedly as he sailed down the current. 

“My belly hurts,” Sniff moaned, laying on his back.

“Of course, you’ve eaten your weight in pancakes.” Snufkin chuckled, though his own stomach was beginning to protest skipping breakfast. But he was too shocked by his own laughter to care. How had he slipped back into their old routine so easily? It felt wrong, in a way.

“Say, do you– OW! Little My, haven’t you punished me enough?” His hand flew to the back of his head. 

“Your hair is long.” His sister remarked, giving his locks another tug. Snufkin swatted her away. 

“Yes, well, I hadn’t any time to cut it. I was busy.” 

“Busy doing what, exactly?” 

“All sorts of things.”

“What things?”

“Incredibly important things that you wouldn’t understand.” Snufkin huffed and laid back in the grass. 

“Like being bitten by a werewolf?”

“Oh, hush.”

“Don’t tell me to hush. You’ve lost any right to tell me to hush.” 

At that, Snufkin stood up with a scoff. He felt guilty almost immediately after walking away. She was right, after all. He was the one who owed a thousand apologies. 

As he headed down the river bank, Snufkin caught his reflection in the water.

Goodness, his hair truly was long. 

***

There’s something strange about returning to a childhood home.

Not that Moominvalley was Snufkin’s home, of course. He didn’t have a home. He was a vagabond, a nomad. He wasn’t meant to stay in one place for too long. The valley was a … well, a sentimental waystation. Yes, that was it. He visited by tradition and traveled the rest of the time, like the mysterious Hattifatteners. But after all, he’d been coming here every summer since he was … goodness. Eleven? Twelve? No matter. 

Because of this, every path, every stone, every sound and smell and detail radiated memories and nostalgia, despite it only having been a year or so.

The center of many of those memories, Moomintroll himself, now sat on the bridge some distance away. Snorkmaiden had gone to look for flowers to decorate her bark boat, leaving him to watch Edvin bob up and down in the water. 

As he approached, Moomin looked up at him. He said nothing, but nodded to let Snufkin know he could sit. There on the bridge where they normally met each other every spring.

They sat.

And they just sat for a little while. And Snufkin forced down the urge to run away.

Then…

“I expect you’re angry with me,” He began. “I would be, too.” 

“What? I’m not … I mean, well…” Moomintroll fumbled.

“I understand if you no longer want to be my friend. But I want you to know, honestly, I never meant to be gone for so long. It’s just … it got complicated, and the longer I was away the harder it got to return, but it was never your fault–”

“Snufkin, it’s okay.”

The boy blinked. “But surely you must be curious.” 

“Oh, I am. I’m so curious it feels as though I might explode. But…I figure, you’ll tell me when you’re ready. Until then, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Snufkin stared at him, astonished. “Can I ask you something?” 

“What is it?”

“How is it, that after all this time, you haven’t changed a bit?” 

Moomintroll flushed. “I’ve changed more than you think.”

“Maybe. But you still amaze me.”

Before poor Moomin’s face could get any hotter, Snorkmaiden came running up to them. 

“I present to you, The Queen Daisy.” She proudly proclaimed, holding up her bark boat.

“I told her that too many flowers would cause the boat to sink. She didn’t listen.” Snork sighed as he appeared behind his sister. 

“And the daisies on your head?” Moomin pointed to the flower crown that sat nestled in Snorkmaiden’s fringe. 

“Well, the boat had to be named after someone, didn't she?” Snorkmaiden said with a wink. 

“I suppose you’re correct,” He replied with a laugh. “Your highness.”

That made Snorkmaiden snort a laugh as well, and before long she began making yet another floral crown. And another. Finally she dragged them all into the wildflower field so she could collect the flowers more quickly. 

Little My got a tiny circlet of red snapdragons around her bun, along with a few little orchids. Sniff wore buttercups proudly on his head, and he thought he looked quite royal with his crown. Snork insisted he wanted no part in the floral accessorizing, but everyone saw him pluck a petal from one of the towering lupines. 

Moomin was trying in vain to keep his crown safe, as My kept trying to snatch the edible cornflowers and leaves of the mountain avens – although, it was more likely that he was trying to preserve the snowdrops. 

When Snorkmaiden asked what sort of crown Snufkin would like, he assured her he didn’t want one. This was odd, considering she’d known Snufkin since before they’d met Moomintroll, and one thing she was certain of was that he loved flowers. She frowned, but didn’t press the matter.

He sat perched up high, on the largest branch of an alder tree. Swinging his legs, the boy gazed out over the valley with a smile tugging on his lips. Snorkmaiden couldn’t make it out very well, but that smile reminded her an awful lot of Moomin’s happy-sad grin. 

Moomintroll himself glanced up to the tree, beaming.

“I bet you’ve forgiven him, just like that.” Said Little My when she saw him staring. 

“Oh, don’t act as though you’re not happy he’s back.” 

“He’s not back, not really. Look at him! He’s like a different person, and he hasn’t even told us why.” 

“That’s not true. He’s Snufkin, and he’s here. That’s more than I thought to hope for.” Moomin turned to her, feeling a little hurt.

“He’s here now. But what’ll happen to you when he leaves again?” 

***

Moominmamma encouraged Snufkin to sleep in the house for at least another night while he was healing, but the troll would have none of it. Finally, after begging for permission he didn’t really need, Snufkin brought his pack outside as the sun turned the sky orange. The day had passed so quickly, it was hard to believe. Mamma insisted on giving him a homemade meal at least, so Snufkin and the others finished up their dinner and got to work pitching the tent.

Something in Moomin’s chest felt oddly achy and happy at the same time. He’d missed this; he’d truly, truly missed this. It still felt that at any moment, he might wake up and have to spend the day trying to forget about the lost piece of him that Snufkin took when he left.

It was fully dark now. The sea brought a cool breeze up the cliff. Snufkin dusted his hands off and looked around. Everything was set up, just the way it used to be.

The Snorks reluctantly took their leave, with My and Sniff going to Moominhouse shortly after.

“Well. Yes, well, goodnight, Snufkin.” Moomintroll forced himself to go, trusting that his best friend would still be there come morning.

“Wait. Um. You can stay.”

The troll turned around, unable to keep the surprise and delight off of his face. Snufkin wrung his hands and looked away. 

“If you’d like to, that is–”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely.” Moomin rushed. 

*** 

Snufkin turned the knob on the lamp and kicked off his boots, settling in. He heard crackling as the fire fizzled out, the rolling of the waves, and the shuffling of his friend laying down beside him. They stared at the canvas roof of the tent.

“...Quite a day,” Moomin whispered, although he didn’t need to be quiet. 

“I’ll say.”

“…How are you feeling?” He asked. 

“How do you mean?” Snufkin’s silhouette turned to him. 

“I mean… however, really.”

Snufkin was quiet for a moment, and Moomin reckoned he was thinking. “To be truly honest,” He said. “I don’t think I can describe it in words, what I’m feeling on the inside.” 

That was relatable, and Moomin told him as such. “I understand.”

“But on the outside, I feel… better. Better than before, anyway. Not so feverish nor itchy, though I’m still a bit sore, and my hand hurts.”

“Not to mention the beating Little My gave you.”

A small chuckle in the dark. “She’s surprisingly strong.” 

“Oh?” Moomin grinned. 

“Yeah,” Snufkin snickered some more. “I think she bit me, too.”

And just like that, in a tent on a cliff underneath the stars, the two trolls both collapsed into giggles.

Chapter Text

Moomin woke up not knowing what year it was. 

This was because for the first time in so long, he awoke to the sound of harmonica music. Half a second after being filled with childlike excitement, he opened his eyes to find Snufkin missing, and remembered the past year and a half. Those horrible silent spring mornings. Fear seized him before the troll realized the song was still playing. 

Well, somewhat playing.

Moomintroll poked his head out of the tent and immediately relaxed as he saw his dear friend sitting only a few meters away. Snufkin faced the sunrise, which set his silhouette alight in such a beautiful way Moomin could hardly believe it.

He stayed quiet for a little bit, but the moment was soon ended by an abrupt flat note, followed by a frustrated cry as Snufkin tossed the harmonica aside.

Taking that as his cue, Moomin picked up the instrument and wiped the grass-given dew off, before joining Snufkin. The other boy startled a little when he at last lifted his face from his hands. 

“I’ll admit, I haven’t seen this technique before. I’m pretty sure that harmonicas sound better when you blow into them, rather than yell at them from afar.” Moomin joked. 

Snufkin sighed. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve played. I don’t know that I’ve ever had this much trouble constructing a spring tune.” 

“I wouldn’t worry yourself over it.” Moomintroll replied, as though it were that easy.

“It’s too late for that,” Snufkin chuckled, then waving a dismissive hand as his friend tried to hand the mouth organ back to him. “No, no, keep it. I meant it when I said it was yours, anyway.”

An odd feeling stirred in Moomin’s stomach, and he wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or delight.

“Well, perhaps you just need a bit of inspiration.” Moomin nudged him with mock-haughtiness. He brought the harmonica to his own mouth, took a breath, and played something of his own. It wasn’t anything special, really, and he was nothing compared to Snufkin’s talent. But he’d tried his best to teach himself in his friend’s absence. The music was a bit faster than Snufkin’s usual tempo, lilting prettily like a cold stream over pebbles. When he finished, he opened his eyes – he hadn’t realized he’d closed them – and was caught off guard by the way Snufkin was looking at him. His eyes were shining.

Snufkin opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but apparently thought better of it. He instead cleared his throat and got to his feet. “Breakfast?”

***

Moominpappa had left the night before on some errand, and Mamma was occupied in her sewing room, so they grabbed some fruit and went back outside, lounging on the verandah. Snufkin looked more relaxed than he had the day before, but Moomin noticed the way his leg bounced on the railing, and how he’d tucked his tail away again under his green suit.

Why were things awkward again? 

He’d thought they’d sorted it out already, but Moomin was beginning to realize that without winter stories to trade, neither of them were sure of what to talk about. He certainly didn’t want to disclose those days of mundanity and – frankly – lethargic heartsickness. And he’d promised he wouldn’t ask what had happened to Snufkin during his absence until he was ready.

So instead, they told old stories. They recalled magic tophats and mysterious beasts, their adventures in the sky and in the sea, on mountaintops and in caverns, and of all the funny and interesting folk they’d met in the many years they’d known each other.

As the sun rose higher and the pair shook off the last bits of sleepiness, their storytelling grew more animated. By the time everyone else in Moominhouse had risen (judging from the footsteps shuffling and coffee aroma just inside) Snufkin was smiling, and juice from the plum he was eating dribbled down his chin as he laughed, making him look silly and utterly wonderful and for a moment it seemed like nothing had changed at all.

“D’you remember when we first met?” Snufkin asked, tossing the plum pit into the bushes behind him.

“Surely,” Moomin replied. How could he forget? 

“Off with the painter!” A much-younger Snufkin had shouted from the riverbank. “Fancy that, coming all this way just to see me!” 

“You were so gregarious, then.” Moomintroll remembered with a grin. 

“Gregarious? That’s quite the word, are you sure you didn’t just make it up?” Snufkin joked, tipping up his hat.

“You’re the one who taught me it!” Moomin shoved him lightly, inciting another laugh from his friend. It sounded beautiful, which was embarrassing to admit even to himself.

“I guess I was. It’d been a while since I’d had company until you and Sniff came floating along.”

The twittering of birds singing echoed from the woods not far away. Moomin smiled at the pretty sound, but when he turned back to Snufkin, the boy was frowning.

Before he could ask what was wrong, they both startled as The Mymble’s eldest daughter called out from the front yard. (Not to be confused with The Mymble, her mother, nor to be confused with the second-eldest after her, Little My. We’ll call her Mymble for short.) 

“Snufkin, you’re back!” Mymble beamed as she ran towards them before catching herself being unladylike (a ridiculous notion in everyone’s eyes but hers) and slowed her pace. She was holding a basket of wildflowers, and her shiny auburn hair was loose from its bun and fell past her shoulders.

Snufkin sat up in shock, clearly not expecting to see The Mymble’s daughter here. She often traveled, albeit not as much as he did. “I am,” He finally replied, before his sister enveloped him in a hug. A far more civil greeting than My’s, for certain. 

“I was worried about you – oh! You look different!” She prodded his nose and inspected his hands. 

“Yeah…” Snufkin’s brow furrowed, and he looked like he wanted to ask her something, before realizing that Moomin was still standing there. “What are the flowers for?” He asked instead. 

“Oh!” She lifted the basket. “Snorkmaiden told me about the flower crowns she’s been weaving. I asked if she might make me one! I think purple would look rather nice, don’t you?” 

Snufkin plucked a bit of lavender from the heap and inhaled the calming perfume. “I think so.”

“Do you? I’ve been unsure what color would stand out against my hair. Speaking of–” She said, brushing a lock behind her brother’s ear. “– yours is almost as long as Little My’s, now! Oh–!” She frowned as her fingers got caught in a tangle. “– and have you never heard of a comb? Goodness.”

Moomin suppressed a snicker as Snufkin sighed in annoyance.

“Mymble!” Snorkmaiden opened the door behind them. “Did you bring the flowers?”

“Snorkmaiden? How did – have you been here all morning?” Moomin asked, bewildered.

“Is that lavender? Oh, the purple will look so lovely in your hair!” She told Mymble, waving away Moomintroll’s question.

“Thank you, Snorkmaiden,” Mymble grinned, still eyeing Snufkin. “But I have a different idea.”

*** 

One would think Snufkin was being arrested, the way he fought against the girls as they brought him inside to comb his hair.

“It’s fine, I washed it yesterday!” He swatted at his sister without any true aggression. 

“And it’s already matted! Honestly!”

“Oh, are we tormenting Snufkin? Count me in!” Little My said as she entered the room. 

Alas, it was three against one, and Moomintroll was laughing too much to be of any help as Snorkmaiden, Little My, and Mymble hauled poor Snufkin upstairs. 

He finally relented and plopped himself down on the bed with a huff. Snufkin caught a glance in the mirror, and his stomach sank a little. “It really is long, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and we’ll fix that if you’d like. But first–” With a rustle of her skirt, Mymble settled herself on the bed behind him and began to work a comb through his elflock. “I think lavender would suit you beautifully.”

*** 

Twenty minutes later, Snufkin’s patience really was beginning to run thin. He was itching to get up and do things, and he couldn’t help but worry … that the more they fussed with his already-outgrown hair, the more he’d look like – 

– Well, like his sisters.

Not that Little My and Mymble weren’t lovely, of course. But that was different.

The activity, despite being rooted in innocent care, dredged up bad memories of itchy dresses and tight buns at a certain horrid Home for Foundlings; the Fillyjonk caretaker telling him that was how he was supposed to be. The only other times when he’d felt that trapped were when Snufkin was literally behind bars. 

All this considered, his leg was bouncing again and his hands were fidgeting by the time he was proclaimed to be “Done!”

“You look fantastic!” Snorkmaiden said at the same time Little My snorted, “You look foolish!” 

Mymble sat back to admire her handiwork. “Alright, would you like to see?” 

Snufkin stiffened his posture almost subconsciously. “How do I look, really?”

He lifted his gaze with difficulty, but when he did, only real smiles faced him in reply. 

“You look like you.” Mymble said soothingly.

And when Snufkin finally, hesitantly, looked in the mirror, he found that she was right. 

*** 

Moomin sat up straight when he heard the clambering of footsteps on the stairs. Snork had joined him and Sniff, where they all sat waiting at the coffee table for the others. It was a promising day, and they’d hoped to go for a walk up the mountain, but apparently hair styling was a time-consuming activity. 

So when Snorkmaiden and three of The Mymble’s children finally reappeared, he was excited to get going, but very nearly tripped over his own chair when he saw Snufkin.

They’d done so much more than just detangle his hair. His acorn-brown locks were chopped a little shorter, and they swept up at the tips as if already feeling lighter. A few were left just long enough to be braided at his temples and tied at the back, with those lavender flowers woven in here and there. The rest was slightly disheveled, as if it simply refused to stay neatly in place, and the front strands swished over his forehead in the same way they always had. 

Moomin suddenly felt as though he’d swallowed a bunch of butterflies. Well. Strike me pink. At that thought, he began to worry if he was actually turning pink. His face felt warm.

Over the past year and a half, Moomintroll had wished more than anything for things to go back to the way they were. But right now, he thought of one thing he’d like to do differently.

He’d like to tell Snufkin how pretty he looked, for one thing.

Get ahold of yourself, Moomin!

“Now that that’s all finished, I was thinking we could hike up the … what?” Snufkin huffed a self-conscious laugh, and twisted his fringe as though it might sufficiently cover his face. “I know it looks ridiculous, Little My’s assured me of that plenty.”

“No! No, you look– just– you look splendid.” Moomintroll said in a completely eloquent and not-at-all-flustered way. 

“Thank you.” Snufkin’s smile faded almost imperceptibly as he glanced from Moomin to Snorkmaiden and back again. “Now, I believe the mountainside is in desperate need of exploring.” 

With that, he beckoned them all out the door and they set off. 

Chapter Text

While each day of the prior summer had passed with excruciating slowness, time decided to stretch its wings and fly by once Snufkin returned to the valley, as if it had been waiting just for him. The days and weeks skipped along, and before anyone knew it, May would be arriving in a few hours.

Right then it was late at night. Very late. 

Snufkin sat at the foot of Moomintroll’s bed, leaning against the wall. He turned his harmonica over in his hands, listening to the peaceful ticking of the clock and Moomin’s rhythmic snoring. They’d stayed up talking like they used to, sitting on the roof and making up constellations and just enjoying each other’s company. Though his friend was asleep, he didn’t want to leave, not yet.

It was just so serene, this hour of the night. 

As if on cue, the grandfather clock downstairs chimed, faintly audible through the door and floorboards. One. Two. Three. Four. Four tolls. It was four-o’-clock in the morning. How had that happened?

For a few seconds, Snufkin was overcome by the strange feeling of being the only person in the world who was awake. It was both exhilarating and isolating at the same time. Then it occurred to him that someone else might be up and about.

Bakers always rise before dawn. 

TWO FEBRUARIES EARLIER…

Snufkin sat underneath an elm tree, listening to the rustling of the leaves. Their sound resembled that of rolling waves. The sun was up by now, and he’d finished most of the bread he’d gotten from the Baker – Alby, as their name seemed to be. The woods were still oddly devoid of twittering melodies, but the near-silence was somehow relaxing now. Sunbeams warmed his face, and Snufkin leaned his head back onto the bark and closed his eyes. He could almost fall…

“Hey, you there!” A brash voice shouted. 

He frowned, snapping his eyes back open. Of course.

There wasn’t time to mourn his moment of peace, because the cries were getting louder. “Hey! Stop!”

Roused to his feet, Snufkin pushed himself away from the tree and instinctively braced to run. But first, he peeked around the wide trunk to see just about the worst thing in the world – a hemulen in a uniform. And he was marching straight towards him.

He cursed under his breath, ducking back behind the elm. I didn’t even do anything this time! …At least, not on purpose.

Not that it mattered. The vagabond took one last bite of bread. He slipped his boots back on and grabbed his backpack in record time, preparing for what would come next. Snufkin had fought park keepers before, and he was more than prepared to do it again. 

However, it soon became apparent that this hemulen wasn’t looking at him. Instead, the troll’s gaze was turned upward, towards the forest canopy. 

“Get back here!” The park keeper yelled again, drawing ever closer. 

Snufkin was about to protest that he hadn’t moved anywhere, when:

Rustle, Rustle. 

Ss–nap. 

Leaves and branches came raining down. A dark shape descended from the trees.

Note: There is a trait that seems to be common among most creatures. It’s that feeling of knowing that something is about to happen, and the body acts accordingly before the mind does. 

Often, the body is not quick enough.

Snufkin yelped as he was shoved to the ground. He craned his neck to see an equally surprised, dark-haired man sitting on his back. 

“Pardon me.” The fellow grinned and tipped his hat. He did not look the least bit apologetic. 

Before Snufkin could respond, the stranger scrambled to his feet. The park keeper must have seen, because his shouts became louder – and closer. He was definitely on their tails. 

A pair of deep indigo eyes flitted up to Snufkin’s head, and in one quick motion, the strange man swiped the green felt hat off of it.

“Need to borrow this. You can have mine.” He crammed a red pointed cap over Snufkin’s hair, and promptly took off running. 

“What– Wait!” Snufkin scrambled after him.

The stranger dashed through the woods, weaving between trees and leaping over stones. Snufkin followed closely behind, being pursued in turn by the park keeper. He kept one hand on his head to stop the new hat from flying off. Shouts rang out through the woods, accompanied by laughter on the thief’s behalf. Frustrated, Snufkin pumped his legs harder. 

A paw reached out to grab at his canary-yellow scarf as it trailed behind him. With a shout, Snufkin narrowly yanked it out of the hemulen’s grasp. As he did, he caught a glimpse of the park keeper close up. The troll’s face was turning red underneath a large handlebar mustache. 

Well, half of one, anyways.

Before he could properly judge the fellow’s barber, Snufkin found himself in a tiny clearing, having lost sight of the hat thief. He made the mistake of pausing in confusion, allowing that blasted park keeper to catch up with him unexpectedly. 

Right as the hemulen reached for his shoulder, someone grabbed Snufkin’s arm and dragged him behind a boulder. 

“Get down!” The thief pushed on Snufkin’s head as he also ducked to hide. 

“What are you–” A gloved hand flew over Snufkin’s mouth. Furrowing his brow, he yanked the hand away.

“Shh,” The man brought a finger to his lips. He motioned for Snufkin to follow as he inched along, slowly climbing up the side of the rock. From the top, they could see the scowling park keeper sneaking around the back, hoping to catch them.

Not far away was a fillyjonk lady, who seemed to be on a nature walk. She kept the hem of her fine dress lifted so as not to dirty it, and didn’t seem to be enjoying the outing very much. It would be cruel to disturb her.

Which is why the following events were not of Snufkin’s planning, but the stranger’s. 

Snufkin landed on the hemulen’s shoulders, tugging the keeper’s own formal cap over his eyes. At the same time, the dark-haired troll snatched back his red hat and tossed it onto the head of a very surprised fillyjonk. As she took it off to inspect it, a similar green hat plopped to replace it. 

The disoriented hemulen staggered around the boulder, huffing and fixing his uniform. Upon seeing the two hats, he called out in an authoritative voice and strode towards the wearer, truncheon in hand.

As expected, she did not respond well to this. With a loud shriek, the fillyjonk began beating the hemulen with her parasol, and soon they were in a panicked, blind duel. Snufkin had to try very hard not to laugh at the scene. 

However, it didn’t take long for the two to come to their senses. The fillyjonk lady glowered at the hemulen. “Lars! What do you think you’re doing?” 

That was the second formal name Snufkin had heard today, and it came as a surprise to him. Normally, creatures were referred to by a descriptive epithet, or their profession. This town must be either very wealthy or very populous.

“I-I’m sorry, madame. There were these intruders, these mumriks–” The park keeper – or Lars, apparently – stammered. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling the grounds right now, instead of assaulting me?” The fillyjonk scolded, and it occurred to Snufkin that she must own this property. “And where is the other half of your moustache? Goodness, you’re a mess! My husband will catch word of this.” 

“No madam, please don’t! I can explain. Besides, I– we wouldn’t want to bother him now. I’m sure he’s busy.”

The fillyjonk scoffed. “Busy? Honestly.”

“Wait, madam!” 

Their conversation became less discernible as the pair took their business elsewhere, trodding further down the path. 

When the woods were silent again, Snufkin and the dark-haired troll reentered the clearing and retrieved their respective hats. 

“Well, then.” Snufkin dusted off the felt. “Don’t think we’ll be seeing them again anytime soon.”

“Good-for-nothing nincompoop deserved it. Folks like him only care about power.” 

“Not that I disagree,” Snufkin turned to him. “But what was it that you did to upset him?”

The man shrugged. “I was sleeping up in the trees.” 

“Is that all?”

A wicked grin played on the taller man’s face. He held up a tuft of hair.

Snufkin couldn’t help it anymore. Laughter bubbled up and spilled out until he was clutching his sides. The strange man joined in, flashing his uncommonly sharp teeth. 

“You’re a mumrik.” The words left Snufkin’s mouth before he could stop himself.

Mumriks were few and far in between. Similar to Snufkin, they were nomadic trolls and mostly kept to themselves. Snufkin had never actually met one, as far as he knew. 

He huffed. “Yes, I reckon that’s why he wouldn’t leave me alone. Most folk are distrustful of us, as you know.”

“I’ve heard that. But why, is what I’ve always wondered.” He dismissed the oddly inclusive use of ‘us’. 

The mumrik shrugged. “Likely because I am untrustworthy.” 

“You did steal my hat.” Snufkin said, not without humor. 

“But I gave it back,” The older troll grinned. “It is a fine color, though. Maybe I will take it after all.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to recapture your treetop nap, mister mumrik.”

“It’s Joxter,” The mumrik tipped his hat, with all the charisma of a conman in his toothy smile.

“Joxter, then.” Recognition tickled at the back of Snufkin’s mind as he said the name, but he turned to leave nevertheless.

“Should I assume that you are nameless?” The Joxter followed behind him. 

Snufkin sighed. Secretly, though, he was too intrigued not to answer. “My name is–”

*** 

“Snufkin!” 

A torn-off piece of flapjack was lobbed at his head. He blinked and turned to glare at Little My from across the breakfast table.

“What is it?” He asked shortly. 

The redheaded girl nodded towards Moominmamma, who was wiping her paws on a dishcloth. “I noticed you haven’t eaten much. Are you feeling alright?”

Snufkin looked down at his plate. “Right, sorry. Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do this, Moominmamma.” 

“Please, it’s the least I could do.”

“Since you practically live here, now.” My rolled her eyes. 

Snufkin’s face burned. He hadn’t meant to stay overnight, and she knew it. It was embarrassing enough to awaken in Moomin’s room realizing that he’d dozed off, moreover underneath a blanket that had been laid over him at some point. 

“Now, Snufkin, you know you’re always welcome here.” Smile lines crinkled the corners of her eyes.

Snufkin mustered a smile. “Thank you, Moominmamma.” In truth, though, he felt more guilty than grateful. Moominmamma had done so much for him. Just a few days ago, she’d pulled him aside to show him the sewing project she’d been working on. 

“A better alternative for those threadbare bindings,” She’d told him, though her voice showed no real judgement. 

It looked a bit like an undershirt, ending just below the ribcage. But the front was stiffened with what seemed to be baleen, and the sides laced up with ribbon and tied in little bows. Tiny green flowers and leaves creeped up the front to hide the boning, having apparently been stitched by hand. 

And if Snufkin had gotten a little teary-eyed at the gift, Moominmamma hadn’t told the others a thing about it.

And what was he doing for her? For any of them? 

He took a deep breath – well, as deep as he could – letting the compression soothe him. The binder squeezed his chest like a tight hug, but he could still move fairly freely. 

“You look like you,” The Mymble’s daughter had said earlier in the season. Since then, she’d made other such assurances, with a funny warmth in her expression. It made Snufkin wonder if she knew. 

It was bad enough that he’d had to grow up in a body that didn’t suit him. Now, those had been a difficult few years. The more … recent … changes to his appearance brought back feelings he didn’t like to feel. Unable to control what was happening, and constantly wondering about how he’d be received, even in a place as accepting as Moominvalley.

“Ugh,” There were too many thoughts in his head. He laid his face on the table.

“Something bothering you?” The question was punctuated by another pancake projectile, this time landing in his hair. 

“You are,” He muttered into the polished wood. 

“Aren’t you touchy.” My followed him as Snufkin cleared his plate, leaving the rest out for Sniff whenever he woke up. “You’ve been acting weird ever since you came back. Moomin said you threw your harmonica.” She snorted.

“That was weeks ago.” He argued.

“Yet you’ve still not told us anything about your long, yet ‘uneventful’, break away from Moominvalley.” 

“It was uneventful,” Snufkin said. That was sort of true. Most of it really had been. “There’s nothing to tell.” That part wasn’t true.

“Sure there isn’t. Good to know you trust us so much.”

“My!” Moomin chided as he entered the room. Snufkin instantly relaxed when he saw him. “Stop it. Are you two done eating?”

Snufkin grabbed an apple from the counter, indicating that he was all set. He really didn’t want to be interrogated any longer.

The tiny mymbling swallowed a mouthful of flapjack and put her plate in the sink. “Yeah. Why?”

“Come on, then! It is the hottest it's been outside for weeks. We’re going to the beach!” 

TWO FEBUARIES EARLIER, STILL…

“You know old Moomin? Ha! I haven’t seen him in ages. What’s he up to these days?”

Joxter. The Joxter, of course. From Moominpappa’s stories! How had it taken Snufkin so long to recognize him? By now, this odd man had been talking with him for almost thirty minutes, and they’d walked the entire perimeter of the town.

“All sorts of things, I suppose. Gone on quite a few adventures since I met him – and he goes by Moominpappa, now.” He replied.

“By Groke, he’s got children?” The Joxter looked astonished, but only briefly. “Finally married Moominmaiden, eh?”

Snufkin chuckled. “Yes, they’ve got a house in the northern valley. Splendid trolls, there, really.”

“If he’s still traveling, then I wonder why I haven’t crossed paths with him.” 

“Oh. Well, I suppose his adventures don’t take him as far as here. He has a family, after all.”

The Joxter hummed thoughtfully. “Old Moomin, settled down. Never thought I’d see the day. Well, if you know me from those memoirs of his, you’ll know that’ll never be me. I’ll never settle.”

“Nor will I.” Snufkin agreed. The dark-haired mumrik then gave him a funny look.

“Except, you said that you return to that place every year.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, like I said. Some very nice folk there. I’ve got friends that… miss me.” 

“Oh? You got someone waiting for you as well?” 

“What?”

The Joxter laughed in delight as Snufkin ducked his head, failing an attempt to hide the redness in his cheeks. 

“Stop it! It’s not like that.” 

“No?” 

“No.” Snufkin replied firmly.

“Okay, then.” The Joxter brought out a pipe and lit a match, which he offered to Snufkin, who declined.

He and Pappa had promised Moominmamma after Moominpappa began to get coughing fits, and Snufkin became short of breath. Joxter raised his eyebrows, but lit the tobacco without pushing further. 

He took a puff and closed his eyes.

“Besides, he–” Snufkin continued suddenly. “He already has someone.”

“I said okay.” Joxter replied.

“Alright.”

“Good.”

For a moment, they continued in silence. Then, the Joxter turned back to him and asked: “What’s his name?” 

Snufkin scoffed the question away, but then something softer overtook him, encouraging him to give the older man a reply. “His name is Moomintroll.”

***

The Mymble’s daughter lifted Snufkin’s hat from his face, causing her brother to squint in indignation. “Aren’t you going in the water?” She asked, dropping it back down.

“I’m alright.” He shrugged, catching the hat and fanning himself with it. He was laying in a shady patch, having discarded his coat, socks, and shoes. His undershirt felt more comfortable with a binder underneath, although it was less cooling. He’d also rolled his trousers up to the knees. 

“It’s sweltering out. I feel as though I could melt.” Mymble said dramatically.

“Don’t be silly, only witches melt.” Snufkin chuckled lightly. 

“I stopped by Clarissa’s and Alicia’s cottage earlier this morning. I only found puddles!”

Sniff popped his head up, disrupting the mountain of sand Little My was building on top of him. “Really?” He gasped.

“No, not really.” Snufkin rolled his eyes. “She’s making it up.” 

“How do you know? Have you seen either of them lately?” Mymble asked him playfully.

“No. I still don’t think the witch likes us very much.” He muttered, watching Snorkmaiden and Moomintroll bob around in the ocean.

“I don’t know why. We’re wonderful!” Little My grinned as she buried Sniff further, nearly suffocating him under the sand.

The Snork had been tinkering away at some contraption – the same one that had caused the storm, Snufkin had been told – and was rebuilding it into an improved machine. He must’ve been taking a break, because now he was a few steps away. “Aren’t you going to change into something more sensible? Those trousers are meant for colder weather, you know.”

“They’re perfect in any weather.” Why would Snufkin trade them? The wear and tear had made them just right. Besides, he had still been tucking his tail away, despite it not being a secret anymore. Snufkin had gotten much more used to having fur on his arms and legs, but hiding his tail had been a force of habit for years by now.

“Hello, Mymble!” Snorkmaiden called out cheerfully as she and Moomin made their way to shore, their arms filled with pretty shells. 

“Hi! Is Too-Ticky home?” 

“No, I’m sorry. She promised to take the invisible shrews sailing. Edvin has barely left the bark boat.”

“Oh.” The Mymble’s daughter looked a little disappointed. She must have been looking forward to seeing Too-Ticky. 

“But,” Snorkmaiden quickly added. “I was just about to go looking for mermaids, if you wanted to come.” 

“Snorkmaiden. You’re grown. I’m grown… I would love to look for mermaids.” Mymble said seriously. 

The two ran off, meanwhile Sniff, Snork and My were discussing how they could tunnel a passageway underneath the beach.

Moomin and Snufkin exchanged a smile. At times like this, it really felt as though nothing had changed.

“What do you want to do, now?” Moomin asked him, dropping his collection of shells and sitting down.

“Hmm,” Snufkin mused, deciding he’d changed his mind. “Is the water nice?” 

“Oh, it’s great!”

Snufkin grinned. “I have an idea. Follow me.” He then stood and dusted the sand off of his trousers, before heading to the shoreline. 

As they reached the shallows, he turned to Moomin and flopped into the water on his back, arms spread wide. He shouted out as the temperature hit him, but laughed as well. 

That was the Snufkin that he knew, Moomintroll thought to himself.

Moomin followed suit, and raced after his friend as they paddled to deeper waters, splashing each other good-naturedly all the way. He watched as the sunshine lit Snufkin’s hair, and thought about the sea-spray Snuf that Snork had made only weeks ago. It was beautiful then, but nothing could compare to the real thing. 

The pair swam along the coastline, looping around big rocks and taking breaks on sandbanks. Finally, Snufkin motioned downwards, took a deep breath, and went under.

Moomin reached the underwater cave before Snufkin did, and checked to make sure he was alright when they both resurfaced. Well, it wasn’t really an underwater cave. The cavern peeked out high above the water and opened at the top like a fishbowl, but the easiest way to get in was deeper down. 

This had been one of their old hideouts. It reminded Snufkin of the place they’d all taken shelter in as the comet passed, except no one else knew about this one. Only Moomin and Snufkin. It was their cave, in a way.

Moomintroll hoisted himself up to sit on the slick stone, shivering a bit. Sunshine came in only a few thin beams, and his voice bounced off the walls when he spoke. “I almost forgot this was here!”

Snufkin watched him wring the water out of his snowy-white tail, and absently thought that he should do the same. The back of his trousers had a slit near one of the belt loops, and though he’d never used it, the opening was meant for one’s tail, should one have a tail. And, well, Snufkin did. 

It wasn’t light and fluffy like Moomin’s. It was thinner, dark in color and wirey in texture, and Snufkin didn’t even realize that he’d broken his own rule until Moomintroll spoke up.

“Why do you hide your tail from us?” He asked suddenly. 

Snufkin blinked, looking down at his tail and then back up, surprised at himself. Amazing how Moomin could make him feel so comfortable.

Moomin, who looked terrified that he had crossed a line in asking. Moomin, who really deserved answers. 

At least it was a small question, so the answer was small, too. 

“She used to pull it.” Snufkin sighed, after struggling a bit in his head.

“What?” Snufkin wasn’t sure if Moomintroll hadn’t heard, if he was confused, or was simply surprised that he’d received a reply at all. 

“At the Home for Foundlings. The caretaker there, she… whenever I did something bad, or strayed too far, she would pull on my tail, hard, and drag me back. The others did, too, sometimes.”

This was the most Snufkin had talked about his childhood. Moomintroll knew that he’d been found in a box, and that he was the elder Mymble’s son, but that was all. It took a moment for what he’d heard to sink in, and when it did, Moomin couldn’t keep the horrified expression from his face.

“They what? That’s awful! What kind of caretaker was this, treating young trolls that way! She should be– she shouldn’t –” Moomin was so outraged that he couldn’t find the words.

Snufkin held up a placating hand, but seemed troubled at the memory nonetheless. “It was a long time ago. I left that place and never went back. But it… encouraged me to be cautious. After all, it became harder for the authorities to catch me without it whipping about. But I hid it for so long that I almost forgot that… well, that I’d found people I could trust.”

“You can trust me,” Moomin quickly reassured him, as if they hadn’t survived countless adventures together.

“I know. I trust you the most.” Snufkin told him genuinely.

There was an odd moment there, where they looked at each other. Moomin was smiling at him with that look again, and Snufkin’s tail twitched, and his face was warm, and his stomach felt a bit light and floaty before crashing down abruptly. The pleasant moment was gone, replaced by an unnameable anxiety and need to get out. 

He had to get out of there. 

“I should go. Bye, Moomin.” He said, moving his tail away, where it had nearly intertwined with Moomin’s. How embarrassing. He lowered himself back into the water with a slosh, and with a short wave, ducked under and swam away. He thought he heard Moomin say something, but it was garbled from beneath the surface.

When he reached the beach, Snufkin dumped the seawater out of his hat, wrung it out, and ran as fast as he could.

Chapter Text

LATE MAY

Snorkmaiden sighed in exasperation. 

“I just don’t know what to do, at this point! For weeks, now, they've been going in circles doing the same thing. Snufkin seems like he’s finally opening up, and then he pulls away, and Moomin is disappointed. Then after a few days, he comes back and they continue as normal, only for the cycle to happen all again. And it’s getting worse!” 

“Mhm,” Too-Ticky nodded as she dipped her brush into the paint bucket. She listened patiently as Snorkmaiden ranted on.

“There times where everything seems fine! And then suddenly, Snufkin is keeping Moomintroll at arm’s length again, leaving him to wonder what he did wrong. And Snufkin, he only smiles when he thinks somebody can see him, otherwise, he gets this odd look on his face and his eyes dart towards the woods and his tail twitches, and – they’re best friends, for Groke’s sake! Why won’t they talk?”

“Snorkmaiden,” The Snork put a hand on his younger sister’s arm, where she held a paintbrush against the bathhouse’s shingles. “I think when Too-Ticky asked for our help, she meant more of a touch-up, not a mural.”

She looked at the wall to find that yes, she had been painting pink and yellow and purple petals instead of the swath of white that Snork had done. She lowered her arm. 

“I’m sorry.” She said bashfully. 

“It’s alright. Really, the pop of color is quite pretty.” Too-Ticky smiled, unbothered as ever.

“But I thought you wanted it white.” Snork asked, confused.

“Aye, I think white is pretty. It reminds me of snow. But flowers are pretty, too. Hmm. I’ll tell you what. On this side of the wall, paint the prettiest things you can think of. They don’t need to be perfect.” She winked at them. 

Snorkmaiden smiled, and added some swirling stems and leaves to the flowers. Her brow quickly furrowed as she continued speaking.

“It’s just – I hate seeing them upset. I just want the people I care about to be happy.”

“You have a good heart, but you can’t do the work for them.” Said Too-Ticky.

“Neither can they, apparently!” She complained.

“Close relationships are tough, no matter the kind. Just because you’ve grown up doesn’t mean you stop growing, you know?” Too-Ticky leaned against an unpainted bit of the wall.

“I can’t say that I always fully get how other people behave, but I agree that it’s getting ridiculous.” Snork commented. 

“Thank you!” Snorkmaiden said. 

“I also agree that you may be too close to the situation. As your big brother, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you: Whatever is going on between them, they’ll work it out on their own.”

Snorkmaiden groaned, then paused as she looked over to Snork’s side of the wall. “What is that?” 

The Snork blinked, stepping back from what he’d painted. “I don’t know, really.”

“Can I see?” Too-Ticky walked up closely behind them, hands in her pockets. 

On the wall, Snork had drawn a creature – a similar sort of troll to Snufkin and little My, with a swish of hair only on her head. She was tall like the Hobgoblin, with a thin, pointed face. Her nose swooped up like a ski slope, and her small eyes sparkled with more life than one would think possible from such a simple rendition. Her lips formed a thin line, giving her a posh expression. 

“She’s beautiful.” Too-Ticky said, with an odd smile on her face.

“She’s missing something, though.” Snorkmaiden tilted her head, before glancing at her brother. He gave a permissive nod, and she brought her own paintbrush to the black outlines. When she stepped back, new blotches of color formed a flower crown across her brow. 

“What’ll you call her?” Too-Ticky asked. “You have to give her a name of some kind.”

Snorkmaiden pondered this. Shen said, “Tove.” 

Too-Ticky hummed in approval. “That word means ‘beautiful’, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Snork told her. “Alright, then. Tove.”

“Snorkmaiden!” Moomin’s voice was faint against the sea breeze, but grew louder with his footsteps. They all turned to him. He looked upset, and Snorkmaiden already knew exactly what was going on.

“I think I messed up,” He said.

***

The sun was getting low in the sky by the time Snorkmaiden reached Snufkin’s camp. Sometime during the past few months, he’d moved his tent further away from Moominhouse, and it was now perched on one of the smaller, greener hills at the base of the Lonely Mountains. 

Moomin had elected not to go with her, despite clearly wanting to. 

“He’s been avoiding me, I think. I don’t want to make it worse.”

The air seemed oddly still up there, not windy like she’d expected. Slightly out of breath from the uphill climb, Snorkmaiden took a moment before knocking on the tent – well, knocking on the wooden pole that supported the fabric. 

There was no reply. 

To her surprise, this filled Snorkmaiden with a sudden frustration, backed by the weeks of sitting helplessly while her friends failed to communicate. Why couldn’t he bother to respond to a simple knock? 

A gentle throat-clearing made her jump, and she whirled around to see Snufkin sitting on a nearby stone, staring at her. 

Oh. 

“Hello, sorry. I didn’t expect to see you there.” She said.

“And here I thought you came looking for me.” He chuckled a bit. 

“Well, actually,” Snorkmaiden sat down on a tree stump close by. “I did. I wanted to talk to you.” 

“What about?” He asked nonchalantly.

Snorkmaiden frowned. “Don’t do that. You know what about.”

Snufkin paused, long enough for Snorkmaiden to take notice of what he was doing. He was… sewing? Mending a large piece of fabric. It was blue on the top and bottom, with a white stripe in the middle. A thinner line ran through that, with two round dots on the left and right. 

“I thought it might need an upgrade.” He explained after a moment.

“What?” Snorkmaiden asked with genuine curiosity.

Snufkin lifted the fabric to show her. “I’ve had the same design since I was very little. Never felt the need to change it before, but again, flags are funny like that, aren’t they?”

“Right.” Snorkmaiden said slowly, not quite following.

“I always wanted one when I was small. I’d go all over the place, and see people flying flags that told everyone who they were and where they were from. The English, they’d sometimes have this bird on their heralds. A bird without feet. They called it a martlet.”

“A bird without feet?”

“Yes. I don’t know if such a thing really exists. But they say the martlet was born falling. Then it would continue to fly, all its life, never touching down, never resting. After all, if it did, there would be no way to get back in the air. It would be grounded, forever.”

Snorkmaiden waited patiently. Eventually, Snufkin sighed and met her eyes. He softened a bit at the contact. 

“Do you mea–” Snorkmaiden was cut off by another voice. 

“Just what is wrong with you?” Little My interrogated, making the other two jump. How had she been so sneaky?

Finally, Snufkin came to his senses again. “Pardon?” He asked.

To Snorkmaiden’s horror, she swore she saw Snufkin rebuilding the walls that she’d just taken down. Little My, apparently having none of Snorkmaiden’s earlier trepidations, stood unwavering. 

“Nothing is wrong with me.” He said, his tone a few degrees colder than it had been a moment before. 

“Snufkin, are you okay?” Snorkmaiden asked earnestly. 

“Yes! Why does everyone keep asking me that?” He threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Because you’re clearly not. And I think we’ve all been more than a little patient, with your skittishness–” 

Snufkin scoffed. 

“–and your distancing–” 

“My,” Snorkmaiden placated.

“ – and oh-so-mysterious brooding. Tell me. Just what happened that summer you were away?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Snufkin exclaimed. 

“It does matter! You’ve talked to Moomin, but have you really? Do you have any idea what he’s been through because of you?”

Snufkin scrubbed his hands over his face, digging his claws into his hair. “...I can imagine.” He muttered stiffly.

“Can you? Do you know what he said the day the storm hit? He thinks it was his fault!” Little My’s face was set, and she seemed to tower above Snufkin despite her extremely short stature.

“He was just starting to be okay, and suddenly you’re back, but you’re not really back.” She gestured wildly in anger. “You can’t just pretend like everything is fine. You can ignore me, that’s one thing, but Moomin? He’s the last person you should be pushing away!” 

“I should never have let him get so close to begin with!” Snufkin cried out, his voice sounding dangerously close to breaking. He was standing now.

“Why? What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of hurting him? Because I’ll tell you, it’s a bit late for that–”

“It’s not just that! I’m afraid for myself!”

There was silence. 

“It's selfish, I know. It’s so selfish. But I just… I can’t help but…” Snufkin was practically whispering. He crumpled back onto the rock, holding his head in his hands. 

Snorkmaiden and Little My looked at each other, stunned. The air had cooled as the sun slipped underneath the horizon, leaving them all in the pensive quiet of dusk.

They were more stunned, however, by what Snufkin said next. He took a shaky breath, stood up, and dusted himself off.

“Right, then. We should probably get the others. I don’t have it in me to tell this story more than once.”

Chapter Text

2 1/2 FEBRUARIES EARLIER…

“Psst.”

Snufkin opened his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. He hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, and had just been beginning to drift off. But he sat up anyway when The Joxter poked his head inside the tent, lantern in hand.

“Good, you’re awake.”

“Yes, thank you for that.” Snufkin muttered sardonically, rubbing his eye.

The older troll’s blue eyes flashed like a feline as he laughed.

He asked, “Want to do something illegal?”

And so they went. Considering how high the moon hung overhead, it was likely midnight when Joxter led Snufkin into the woods, down the same path they’d met on.

“You’ve noticed what’s wrong with this place by now, haven’t you?” The dark-haired man said after a while.

“What do you mean?” As soon as Snufkin asked, he realized what The Joxter was talking about. 

“It’s too quiet,” They spoke over each other.

“I’ve never been in a forest so silent, even at night.” Snufkin admitted. 

“Me neither. I noticed it as soon as I arrived. Now, why do you think that is?” 

At that moment, Joxter stopped walking. Answering his own question, he pointed a finger towards a dark building that towered in the clearing. It was a house– no, a mansion. Beautifully designed, but it exuded an oppressiveness that made Snufkin involuntarily step away. Not far away was another, comparatively smaller structure. Even without the lantern, Snufkin would have easily been able to see the shiny, domed roof, the rusted metal arches and screens, and the… oh.

They were looking at the biggest aviary that Snufkin had ever seen. 

He couldn’t help but shudder. Snufkin had seen places like this before, with dozens of beautiful birds that were meant to be flying free, stuffed into cages at worst and flowery enclosures at best. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the knowledge of confinement, or the illusion of freedom. 

This aviary clearly could house over a hundred birds, but something was very wrong. He expected to hear a chattering cacophony of twitters and cheeps and caws that seemed to swirl together into one voice, begging to be set free.

But there was hardly a peep. 

A horrible realization hit Snufkin, who suddenly felt as if the Groke herself had clutched his lungs. He thought back to Ninny, the invisible child. How she’d been mistreated and frightened for so long that she’d made herself small. How her face, her hands, even her voice had vanished under the weight of her pain.

It was too quiet. 

And suddenly a hot rage replaced that feeling of shock, and when he looked at The Joxter, he knew exactly what they were there to do. 

***

It didn’t take much effort to pick the lock. Whoever owned this aviary clearly wasn’t worried about trespassers. Snufkin set down the lantern, to Joxter’s surprise. He reasoned that the flame might scare the birds.

The two lithely entered the caged dome, peering around. The place was almost completely void of any type of greenery, but filled by dozens upon dozens of bird cages hanging from the ceiling. Snufkin had to hold in an incredulous snort. A cage inside of a cage. Not only was this owner unspeakably cruel, but they were also an idiot. 

“They call him the Aviculturist,” Joxter spoke in a low whisper. 

“Who?”

“It’s who owns this place.That fillyjonk lady, she’s his wife. Haven’t gotten much more information on him – the people of the town don’t seem to know, or want to talk about it – but he must have been … collecting … for years.” 

He motioned for Snufkin to climb onto his shoulders. Once up higher, he could see that the Joxter was right. For all their eerie silence, the birds trapped here were of all sorts, many of which had to be exotic, from faraway places. They were beautiful, and the way they each cowered despondently in their cages made Snufkin’s insides twist. 

“Don’t worry, little ones.” He said, working on the nearest lock. The tiny door swung open with a metallic scrape. 

He nudged Joxter with his foot, indicating he needed to move, and the man dutifully brought him to the next cage. And the next. But soon, The Joxter grew impatient and they resolved to split up, using whatever they could to reach the avian prisoners. There were no ladders anywhere, which begged the question of exactly how these birds were being cared for. 

But there was a rocking chair and a small table in the corner, as if this Aviculturist relaxed while his birds lost their pretty voices out of fear. Joxter took the table, leaving the rocking chair to Snufkin. It brought him high enough, but he struggled to balance while picking the locks, wobbling slightly every now and then. Swallows, peregrines, magpies, ospreys, and swifts sat and stared at the now-open doors to their confinement.

“They’re not leaving,” Snufkin frowned after a quarter hour of this. He opened the next door, hoping to free the sickly-looking bird inside. The floor of the cage was all dusty. “Why aren’t they leaving?”

The Joxter was silent for a moment, and at first Snufkin thought he simply hadn’t heard him. Then: “Those accustomed to pain would rather continue to bleed than face uncertainty.” 

“They’ve been locked up for so long; it’s all they know. Also, their wing muscles must be weak from disuse.” He continued grimly, eyes focused on his work. “…There. Believe that’s all of them.”

As it was, even after the last cage was broken, not a single bird flew out. But they couldn’t very well leave them there, so then started the process of gently coaxing the dwellers and carrying them outside. Snufkin went back to the sickly bird, who looked worse than ever, and reached for it.

Unexpectedly, the avian burst into flames.

That startled Snufkin enough that he pitched backwards, falling off of the rocking chair and knocking over several empty cages. The sound was horrible, a harsh crash that surely echoed through the entire forest and certainly awoke the mansion’s residents. 

That did it.

Many of the birds outside took to flight in their panic, unsteady as they might have been. Over the ringing in his ears, Snufkin heard the flutter of wings and the sound of Joxter cursing nearby. He felt his arm being grabbed and himself dragged out of the aviary.

“Phoenix! It’s a phoenix!” Joxter shook him. “It’ll be alright, those creatures always rise stronger than before.” 

Snufkin glanced up at the household, where a light could already be seen in one of the windows. He tripped over something, realizing with horror that it had been the lantern.

“Mother Groke! Fan i helvete – come on!” Joxter looked up as the birds swarmed over the treeline, spreading out into the horizon. The grass near the aviary was beginning to burn, and quickly.

But Snufkin felt as though he was forgetting something. After a moment, he ran back into the enclosure, dodging the rising flames. Fallen on the ground was a beige bird – a dove of some sort. It just sat there, trembling on the floor.

Snufkin wasted no time scooping her up in his hat and turning heel. He scrambled across the burning lawn, dodging flames without any fireproof oil this time around. He caught up with Joxter just as the shouting began. 

***

They ran until their feet couldn’t carry them any further. Panting hard, Snufkin leaned against a tree and slid to the ground to catch his breath. Already, twitters and calls could be heard, breaking up that awful silence.

He and Joxter exchanged exhausted grins, and Snufkin lifted the petrified bird into his hands, stroking the feathers gently in a gesture he hoped was reassuring. It was soft and round – and Snufkin felt a burst of affection as he realized who it reminded him of.

“You’re safe.” He hushed.

They made their way back to camp, and eventually the dove stopped shaking and settled atop Snufkin’s hat as if it were a nest. He smiled amusedly, but noticed that Joxter was giving him an odd look. 

“We should pack up and leave. We might have gotten away, but the Aviculturist will be looking for someone to blame.”

Snufkin nodded. “You’re right.” He felt a twinge of disappointment – he’d wanted to visit the bakery again come dawn. But they broke camp, rolling up his bedroll and dismantling his tent. 

Snufkin looked back at the town, but Joxter shook his head and motioned for him to follow. They set off for the second time that night, this time with no true destination. Neither of them spoke much, though after ten minutes they were plenty far away enough to make as much noise as they wanted. The Joxter kept frowning slightly at Snufkin’s hat, glancing between the bird and the boy.

Finally, he held out a hand to stop the younger troll’s stride. He sighed. “Aren’t you going to let it go?”

“What? Yes, but she’s hurt. And scared, and tired.”

“There’s been plenty of time for her to recover. You can’t just keep her around.”

A harsh gronking sound came from above, and a large black shape swooped down, perching itself proudly on Joxter’s outstretched arm. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. She can rest a little longer.” Snufkin shook his head.

He was then startled by how quickly The Joxter’s expression changed. The troll gave Snufkin a serious look, almost mimicking the cold stare of the raven.

“Don’t get attached, boy. That creature’s been sheltered for too long already. See, they dress up that cage all fancy and provide endless food so you forget that’s what it is – a cage. And you won’t want to leave.”

The mumrik lifted his arm and the corvid ascended, causing a breeze with each flap of its great wings. He then gestured to the tiny gray dove.

“And do you know what happens? They forget how to fly.” 

Snufkin’s pulse quickened, and he faltered for a moment. But then, with a defiant tilt of his chin, the younger vagrant flipped over his hat as a makeshift nest and placed the bird inside. The Joxter looked disappointed and … what was that in his eyes? Pity?

“I’ll carry her, then. Perhaps it’s not any of your business.” Snufkin wasn’t sure why he was getting so defensive. 

“I see. Well, I’ll bid you and your pet good luck.” 

Snufkin scoffed and looked away.

“For your sake, I hope we don’t meet again.” Joxter said in a low voice.

“On that, we agree.” Snufkin replied bitterly. He sat and leaned against that same wych elm, turning his back to The Joxter, with the bird set safely in his lap. 

PRESENT DAY

By now Snufkin was crying. He wasn’t even embarrassed anymore – if anything, the time taken to wipe his eyes provided a temporary reprieve from the aghast stares of his friends. The fire crackled in the quiet night, its warm glow lighting up his face.

“When I woke up, she was gone. The dove. I don’t know what I was thinking, sleeping on the forest floor like that. She couldn’t fly. She couldn’t. Or maybe she could, and I just never gave her the chance. Either way, there were larger birds out that night, maybe foxes, and whatever happened–” His voice cracked. Nearby, Moomintroll flinched at the sound. No one voiced the rest of the sentence, but the intent was clear: “It was my fault.”

“After that… I don’t really know. The months were lost to me. I don’t even remember the places I traveled, but I never stayed anywhere for long.” Why give himself the luxury? “But, I didn’t feel free, either. It turns out, you can go all over the place, but still feel trapped because you’re always running.”

Snufkin said that last bit with a bitter chuckle. He sniffled, and finally looked up. There was only the briefest of pauses, before Snufkin found himself enveloped in the tightest group-hug in the world. The warmth of fur and fabric pressed in all around him, and he felt himself shaking against their bodies. His shoulders relaxed a little. He found himself not wanting to run.

For the first time in ages, 

at least for now, 

he was anchored.

Chapter Text

EARLIER THAT APRIL…

Moominpappa did his very best to remain angry, but after about a week of traveling, with the weather becoming increasingly fair, it became impossible to keep a smile from his face. Pappa loved adventuring – not that this was an adventure. He had a very specific purpose, to find Joxter. The problem was that he had no idea how to do that.

The Joxter could be anywhere. For all of his laziness, that man was a natural wanderer – not unlike Snufkin. Just another similarity that Moominpappa was embarrassed to have not paid attention to sooner. Snufkin was practically a copy of Joxter, and seeing his closeness with Moomintroll often brought about nostalgia for his old friend group. 

But Joxter had never said anything. They’d not spoken in years, true, but still! Even if they had, would the Joxter have bothered even bringing it up? “Oh, by the way, I have a son. Also, he doesn’t seem to know I exist!” 

He’d have to confront Joxter to be sure. Moominpappa realized with concern that it could be months before he came across his friend. He might be napping in a cave, or deep in a dense forest, or up in the mountains, or across the sea somewhere, or in prison–

Oh. There he is.

The raven-haired troll lay sprawled lazily in the shade, hat over his face. A faint whistling sound inclined Moominpappa to believe he was asleep.

He approached purposefully, but ended up standing awkwardly above the lump that was his friend. He poked The Joxter a bit with his foot, which brought no response. He then cleared his throat loudly. Nothing. 

Annoyance began to trickle back in, and Moominpappa saw no reason not to use the tried-and-true method. He lifted the brim of Joxter’s hat from his face, and cried: “THE AUTHORITIES ARE COMING!”

At once, the scruffy man bolted upright, eyes flashing with alarm. He then squinted up at the Moomin, who had his hands on his hips. He broke into a grin. 

“I should have known! How are you, old friend?” Joxter lay back down, folding his arms behind his head. 

“I’m doing fine. And you?”

“All the same. Can I have my hat back?”

“No.”

“...Okay. Why?”

“Because I came to ask you a question.”

The Joxter paused, blinking at him. “Can I not answer the question with my hat on?”

“Will you stand up?” Pappa asked impatiently. 

“Fine. Hup, pff.” Joxter said as he accepted the paw Moominpappa had extended, pulling himself to his feet. He then got his hat back as a reward, which he flopped onto his head and tugged it into place. 

They began to walk together. Not in any particular direction, but that distinctive stroll that just happens when really engaged in a conversation. The problem was, Pappa hadn’t said anything yet.

“So…” The Joxter began, finally becoming uncomfortable with the silence. “I heard you’ve been married.”

“I have. Have you?”

Joxter scoffed good-naturedly at the question, but his smile faded when he saw Moominpappa’s expression. He coughed awkwardly. “You know, I met one of the Valley folk a while back. Seems like you’ve made yourself a nice quiet life there.”

“It’s not always quiet.” Moominpappa chuckled a bit, but then remembered himself. “...Who did you meet?”

“Hmm. I can’t remember his name. Fellow with the green hat?”

Moominpappa nodded before fully processing the words. When he did, he stared at Joxter in shock, unable to believe what he was hearing. He just stood there wordlessly, although in his head, he was screaming the question: “WHAT?!”  

Out loud, however, he cleared his throat politely. “Got acquainted with Snufkin, did you?”

“Yes, that’s him! He told me quite a lot.”

“Fine boy, isn’t he?”

“I suppose, yes.” Joxter’s eyebrows crinkled a bit, though he seemed to only be paying half attention to his words.

“Joxter.” Moominpappa said a bit hotly. “Don’t you think there’s something you should tell me?”

His friend had always been somewhat difficult to read. Things didn’t affect the Joxter as much – at least, not in a way that was visible. For as long as Pappa had known him, his personal feelings and motivations were at once extremely simple and painfully enigmatic. So it took a moment for the Moomin to recognize that it was genuine confusion on Joxter’s face.

“I could tell you plenty of things. What do you want to hear specifically?” The Joxter’s eyebrows went from furrowed in confusion, to spread high on his forehead as Moominpappa threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Your SON, Joxter!”

“...My what?”

“Your son! Snufkin! You’ve seen him – recently! How could you not tell him who you were?”

“I have a son?” The color drained from his friend’s face.

“Of course you do! … Don’t you? He has to be. He’s so like you.”

“I don’t have a son!”

“Yes, you do! He’s Mymble’s boy, isn’t he? One time during a visit, she lit up, saying she remembered him. ‘Number thirty-seven’, she called him. She even had a photo of him as a baby.”

“The Mymble? Well, yes, we did… I did know that she…” Joxter shook his head. “...But I think you must be confused! You see, the child I had with Mymble was a little girl.”

THE LAST DAY OF APRIL…

It was in the morning, before the May Day festivities began, that Moominpappa approached Snufkin. He was perched on the bridge, strumming a guitar while Moomintroll played something on his harmonica. They’d been asked to provide the music for the nighttime celebration, and were practicing a song together. Well, they were trying to, if the Mymble’s daughter were to give them a moment’s peace. 

“Just tell me you’ll think about it.” She coaxed Snufkin. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”

“I’m going to ignore that question. Come on, if it’s just me, I’ll seem overdressed! Little My tried to bite me when I asked her. I have some old dresses that would look really lovely on you.”

Snufkin pursed his lips. “I don’t know, Mymble…”

As they spoke, Moomin continued playing, doing his best to politely stay out of the sibling bickering.

Moominpappa coughed. “Er, Sufkin, my boy. Might I speak to you for a moment?” 

“Of course!” Snufkin said quickly, seeming grateful for the excuse to leave the conversation. “‘Scuse me, Mymble. I’ll be right back, Moomintroll.” He leaned his instrument against the bridge railing and hopped down, following Moominpappa.

When they were a good ways away, Pappa stopped.

“...Is everything alright?” Snufkin asked. His face was relaxed, but Moominpappa noticed how he wrung his paws together. 

“Yes, of course. Um, it’s good to see you and Moomin spending time together.” Moominpappa said truthfully. He’d noticed that their relationship had been a bit strained this year, with Snufkin still refusing to tell stories from his trip, and often going off on his own for several days at a time.

“Oh. Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Snufkin said absently, wringing his paws more tightly. Which reminded Pappa what he had meant to talk about. 

“Snufkin…” Moominpappa tried to figure out his words. “... You … you never knew your father, right?”

The nomad’s eyebrows raised. “No. Not really, no.” He said slowly. 

“Right. Well. Ahem. Do you remember The Joxter fellow I told you about? Remember him?” 

If Snufkin had hackles, Pappa was certain that they’d be raised. “I do.”

“Well, I… thought you should know.” How to say this? “I have reason to believe that he may be … That he is…” 

Snufkin paused, avoiding eye contact. Then he sighed. “I know.”

Moominpappa furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “You do?”

“Well, I suspected. It wasn't very difficult to figure out. The same day you left, Snork asked me more questions about my appearance. More specifically, if I’d ever seen another troll with features like mine…I felt a little silly that I hadn't thought of it before, honestly.”

“That you’re a mumrik?”

“Yes. But I still wasn’t sure why I only began to look like one until now. Snork insisted that we visit the Witch – I think for his own scientific curiosity, but he said it was to make sure I wasn’t cursed or something…”

Moominpappa knew he should be more interested in what Clarissa had said, but he was stuck on one thing. “So, then…?”

Snufkin seemed to pick up on what he was wondering. “I don’t see how it would change anything. I know now, and that’s all there is to it. Unless… Well… I hope that you see me as the same Snufkin.”

He said that last part a bit pleadingly. Moominpappa looked the boy up and down.

The folks in Moominvalley (well, most of them) were curious, but kind. Among all the guests that had stayed at Moominhouse, and there had been a great many, there were small beasts of all different sorts. No one really cared who you were, what you were, who your father was. As long as you were you, the other bits never really mattered. 

Whether you were a mumrik or not certainly didn’t. 

….And did it matter if you were transgender?

Of course it didn’t. 

You are always yourself. Those around you are always in the process of learning exactly what that self is.

That’s what it means to be known.

***

When his best friend returned to the bridge, Moomin asked: “What is it?”

In response, Snufkin simply smiled gently and shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s continue. You remember the notes?”

Chapter Text

“Yip, yip!” 

“Hurry up, Sniff!”

“Hey! Wait for me!” 

Moomintroll had a problem.

It was not so bad at first, but it had become more troublesome as of late.

The fact was that he was terribly in love with his best friend. Of course, he already knew this. He’d known it when Snufkin first came back. That wasn’t the problem, though. 

The problem was that liking someone this way is tricky business. Ever since Snufkin had opened up about his time with The Joxter, and with Alby, and with the… the Aviculturist, things had felt different. Snufkin was more like himself, as if a hundred pounds had been lifted from his shoulders. He laughed more often, and played more music, and, best of all, he spoke more freely with everyone. The two of them had talked more since, even when the subject was clearly difficult. Moomin was sure this was the best he’d ever known Snufkin, in all the years they’d been friends. The others seemed to feel the same way. 

This made it so much harder to hide how he felt. Every time he looked at Snufkin, or listened to his voice, he felt such a rush of affection. Every time his best friend smiled at him, Moomintroll was sure his heart would burst. It was difficult to focus on any other thing, which was problematic, because Moomin really needed to focus right now.

“Woah, there!” Snufkin’s paw flew to his own as Moomin slipped. “Careful. These rocks can be unstable.” 

Groke, there’s another bout of butterflies, again. 

“Come on, you guys! I’m already at the top!” Little My shouted from somewhere above.

“I’m trying!” Snorkmaiden called up. “Snork keeps stopping to update his map.” 

“It’s called cartography.”

“Cartography is so slow! Besides–” Sniff pressed himself closer to the small cliff’s face. “– I don’t like heights.” 

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” Moomintroll reminded him. 

“I know, but I wanted to!” He said quickly. Moomin smiled. 

In the meantime, Snufkin had hoisted himself onto the grassy ledge and was helping Snorkmaiden to do the same. Moomin searched for a new foothold, and it wasn’t long before his nose poked over the top of the cliff as well. 

They were on one of the smaller summits in the Lonely Mountains. The northeastern slope, which they were heading towards, was beautiful in the summertime, full of grassy spots and cold rivers trickling down from the higher peaks.

“Finally!” Little My groaned as the Snorks finally joined them. 

“It’s just this way,” Snufkin pointed. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his faded green coat – which even in the heat of June, he stubbornly wore – leaving his mumrik features on display. His hair stuck up in all directions, light and almost curly. During the climb, his hat had fallen off of his head and landed comically over Moomin’s eyes. Instead of asking for it back, he’d adjusted it to sit right, and neither of them had said another word about it. 

The sky was a patchwork of dark clouds, but sunshine still lit up the valley through the gaps. Rain came down in a drizzle, cooling the air and making the ground smell wonderful. They had one more small hill to climb before they reached their destination… and there. Below them, the grassy land cascaded downwards hundreds of feet. The ultimate hillside.

“Ready?” Moomin turned to the others excitedly. 

“Born ready!” Little My crowed. Without warning, she shoved Sniff forward. He shrieked and scrabbled, knocking her down with him. The two tumbled down the slope, rolling faster and faster.

“Wait, you guys!” Snorkmaiden ran down after them, and her brother followed suit. 

“Snufkin, let’s go!” Moomintroll turned to his best friend, who was enjoying the view of the valley from way up high. He grinned and took a deep breath of mountain air, and took a small, subconscious step back, and he slipped on the dewy grass and the loose rocks and–

“Oops! I’ve got you!” 

Snufkin blinked, his eyes darting from where he’d nearly tumbled off the rock they stood on, to back at Moomintroll, who’d caught him just in time by his paw and his side. 

“Careful. I’ve heard these rocks can be unstable.” Moomin laughed, before realizing that he was still holding his friend, who was looking up at him with an inexplicable expression.

“Thank you, Moomintroll.” Snufkin said a little breathlessly before righting himself. His face was a little flushed, likely from the exertion of the hike. Not letting go of Moomin’s paw, he instead gave it a squeeze. “Yes, I’m ready now.” 

Together they made the descent. For those of you who have enjoyed running down a hill, you’ll know it goes something like this: Going. Gaining speed. Can’t stop running, or you’ll fall. You’re falling. You’re rolling. You’re tumbling. Which way is up? You’ve accidentally gotten some grass in your mouth. It’s the most fun you’ve ever had. 

And it was, for when the last two of the friend group made it to the bottom, both laughing and grass-stained, Moomin propped himself up and looked over at the mumrik. He knew at that moment that it was impossible for anyone to love someone more than he loved Snufkin in that very moment. 

That thought made him a little sad, now that he thought about it. 

But this was no time to focus on the toils of unrequited love, Moomin thought to himself as they all dusted themselves off and made way for Moominhouse. 

After all, Midsummer’s eve was upon us!

***

The solstice was always a big deal in the valley, but it had never been like this. This year, it was more like one of those grand town festivals that Snufkin had only seen from afar. Although it was still the early afternoon, everywhere from the bridge to Moominmamma’s garden was absolutely bustling with who must be everyone they had ever met, and then some. Small beasts from the forest, the mountains and hills and islands were all there. Flowers were everywhere, pleasant music wafted over the crowd, along with the smell of pickled herring (courtesy of Snufkin and Moominmamma). Nearby, a leafy green maypole was being erected by a group of trolls that were clearly too few and too small for the job. Further away, more carefully placed away from everything, was the makings of a massive bonfire nearly as tall as Moominhouse itself. 

It was dizzying and a little overwhelming – Snufkin felt himself slightly mourning the loss of a quiet evening spent with only his closest friends. But it happened that his closest friends loved big parties.

Snorkmaiden in particular did. Her anklet and earrings clinked as she ran about, adorning her group with new flower crowns that she’d spent the past few days making. The Mymble’s daughter, with lavender adorning her bun and wearing a flouncy skirt, had set off to look for Too-Ticky. She’d managed to convince Snufkin to wear one of her vests – green and finely embroidered – along with a yellow ribbon tied at the end of his tail. “All small beasts,” she’d said. 

Sniff was already hungry, so after assuring that Moominmamma didn’t need any help setting the outdoor table, they all set off for some food. 

“What smells so good?” Sniff wondered aloud as they followed their noses through the crowd. 

Moomin pointed his snout to the sky. “It’s fresh bread, I think.”

“It better not be Mrs. Fillyjonk’s.” My said. 

“Why do you say that?” Moomin asked.

“Hers is far too dry,” Snufkin answered. 

The Snork narrowed his eyes. “Mrs. Fillyjonk let you try her baking?”

Snufkin exchanged a glance with his older sister and chuckled a little. “...Not exactly. But she did leave it on the windowsill–” 

Coo-WHOO-oo. Cloo-WHOO-oo. 

Snufkin stopped dead in his tracks and snapped his gaze up towards the trees. 

Nothing. He must have been imagining things.

“That will be three kronor. No? Well, I guess four acorns will do. Hello, there!” A voice said.

They all whirled around to face who had spoken, and discovered the source of the fresh aroma. It was a young troll – a whomper, maybe – with bright, greyish eyes. Snufkin scrunched his eyebrows together, then raised them and blanched, his cheeks turning as pale as the whomper’s hair. 

“Alby?” He gasped. Moomin was worried for a second, until his friend broke into a smile. 

The baker was already beaming. “I found you!!” They let go of the wooden cart that wheeled behind them to grasp Snufkin’s hands.

“Mister Bard, do you remember me?” 

Snufkin chuckled gently. “It’s Snufkin, and of course I do. But how did you – what are you doing here?” 

Alby peered at his hands in their own. “You have fur!”

“And you have… flour.” Snufkin dusted the powder off of his paws.

“This is the baker?” Snorkmaiden came up to them.

“Traveling baker! See?” They gestured to the cart, which held sacks of flour, salt, yeast, and sugar – all neatly labeled with handwritten tags – along with cutlery, wooden spoons, bowls, and a small pile of coal. 

Alby scanned the group, as if looking for something in particular. When their eyes landed on Moomintroll, they lit up. “Your eyes are blue.”

“Do you make a habit of pointing out the obvious?” Snork asked, while Snufkin hid his face under his hat.

“No, I make bread and pastries.” Alby replied cheekily. “Did you want some?”

“Yes, please!” Little My piped up, more of a demand than a nicety.

The baker handed them each a slice of something light and airy and delicious, before looking expectantly at Snufkin.

“Um…” Snufkin glanced around self-consciously. “I’ll… Can I pay you later? I don’t really have any poems right now.” That wasn’t entirely true. But the ones he had would be too revealing. 

Alby’s face fell a little. Though they were slightly older now, that childlike disappointment was ever apparent as they looked to the ground.

Snorkmaiden saved the day. “What if I make you a flower crown instead?”

The baker immediately lit up again. “Really? I mean – that’d be acceptable.”

She smiled. “What kind of flowers would you like?” 

“Oh. Um, I don’t know… pretty ones?”

Snorkmaiden laughed at that. “Let’s go pick some out, then. Snork, Moomin, could you watch Alby’s cart?”

“Us?” Moomintroll turned to her, a bit confused.

“Yes. I don’t trust Sniff and My not to eat anything without paying, and Snufkin needs to come along.”

“I do?” Now it was Snufkin’s turn to be confused.

“Yes!” Snorkmaiden said exasperatedly. “Come on!”

*** 

“Don’t eat those, they’re poisonous.” Snufkin said.

Alby paused with a small berry held at their mouth. They tossed it aside. “I knew that.”

Snufkin shook his head in admonishment, but chuckled anyway. “If you’re going to be a traveling baker, you’ll need to know the plants you can eat and those you can’t.”

The three of them sat in a clear part of the woods while Snorkmaiden carefully wove a crown out of lily-of-the-valley. She added in some maiden pink and lady’s bedstraw as Alby watched, fascinated. 

“Snufkin,” Snorkmaiden asked suddenly and casually, without looking up from her work. “Aren’t you going to ask Moomintroll to dance?”

“Sorry?” Snufkin looked startled by the question. Composing himself, he shrugged. “We dance together every year.”

Snorkmaiden rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you know what I mean. A romantic dance.”

“Is that the blue-eyed troll? So he is special to you!” Alby grinned.

“What? No– no, I mean. He is, but— that is to say… um…” He sighed. “No, I don’t plan on asking him to dance.”

“Why?” Both Snorkmaiden and Alby asked at the same time.

“Why?” Snufkin repeated incredulously. He stood up. “There’s a million reasons why! Snorkmaiden, aren’t you going to dance with him?”

“Yes, but only a friendly dance.” She replied simply. ”Didn’t Moomin tell you that we broke up?”

Snufkin’s eyebrows furrowed. “He did. But you know you two never stay that way for long. I’d have thought…”

“No. It’s for real this time, I know it is.”

“Don’t say that.” Snufkin soothed.

“Oh– No, I’m not upset! Well, I was at first, but it can’t be helped. We’re just not right for each other, that’s all.”

“...Oh.” He sat down again, next to her this time, with his arms draped over his knees.

Snorkmaiden elbowed him playfully, causing him to chuckle. “So?”

“So, what?”

“Sew buttons.” All three of them said it, completely reflexive.

Snufkin fought hard to stop smiling. This was serious. “What, you can’t possibly believe that he–”

“Yes!”

Snufkin blinked at her. He’d known her and Snork longer than any of the others. She’d sounded so… sure. 

Snufkin wasn’t sure when it had started. It might have been when they first met, or it might have happened gradually and quietly. He had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for any sort of relationship. He’d spent years knowing this, and yet… that hadn’t stopped the feelings from coming. How could they? Moomin was just– everything. He was Snufkin’s best friend. He was kind, and brave, and it was all so easy. 

He was Snufkin’s home. 

But that means nothing when you’re a nomad.

Snufkin sighed and shook his head at them. It’s better this way, he thought.

Alby and Snorkmaiden exchanged glances when it seemed that he wasn’t going to say anything more. Then, just as Snorkmaiden reached out to lay a paw on his shoulder, he shot to his feet. 

“There! Did you hear that?” He asked wildly.

Coo-HOO-whoo, hooo. 

He definitely wasn’t imagining it.

“Oh! There she is!” Alby smiled as a roundish, beige bird fluttered down from the canopy and landed in their hair, amongst the recently adorned flowers. “I thought she’d left. This is Lintu!”

Chapter Text

“The same bird?” Moomintroll gasped. “You’re sure?”

Snufkin nodded. “Positive. Alby said they’d found her walking through the forest. Walking! She was trying to walk all the way…”

.

.

.

“...Somewhere. I didn’t know where. Anyhow, she sat and rode in the wagon, but would hop off if I started going south. So, I just kept on heading north! In all this time, she’d never gone too far from me, but then we got here, and she suddenly flew off!” Alby had explained, gently taking Lintu from off their head and letting her perch on their finger. “Where’d you go to, Lin?”

.

.

.

“I can’t believe it.” Moomin said.

Snufkin leaned back on his hands and exhaled. “Me neither. Snorkmaiden and I were speechless for a bit. Oh. Poor Alby, they saw our faces and thought they’d done something wrong. I just… came straight here. I hope they aren’t upset with me.”

“I’m sure Snorkmaiden explained everything. But this is great news, Snufkin!” Moomin put a paw over his friend’s. “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to that dove. She’s okay.”

Snufkin swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded. Since sharing the truth with the others, his fear had greatly subsided, and the guilt had dulled into a sort of background noise. But knowing that Lintu had survived – not only that, but the first thing she did with her freedom was try to go back to her home… that dredged up some feelings that he’d been very content to avoid. 

It hadn’t all started with the dove, of course.

Moomintroll sat quietly with him, seemingly picking up on the overwhelming relief that Snufkin was still processing.

But Snufkin suddenly spoke up. “...But, you see, she only just got here. I’ve… I’d sworn I’d heard her in the Valley before.” He shook his head. “I thought it was just in my own mind, but now…”

“Snufkin–” Moomin sat up straighter, eyes wide. He’d just thought of something. “What did you say her song sounded like? Kind of like, twoo-whoo, right?” 

Snufkin didn’t even need to think about it. The plaintive coo was practically burned into his mind. He cupped his hands together tightly, then brought them to his lips. He whistled into the gap between his thumbs, and fluttered his fingers slightly at the end: 

“Whoo-OO-oo, cooo, cooo, coooo.” 

The sound filled the quiet space of Moomintroll’s room, where they sat on the round little rug. Party music and a warm breeze trickled in through the open window.

Then, amazingly, a response came. Coo-OO-oo, cooo.

Snufkin and Moomin turned to each other in surprise, because that sounded… close. Very close.

They scrambled to their feet, and over to Moomintroll’s window, carefully climbing out onto the sill. There, they spotted a sparse little nest tucked into the gable’s wooden beams. Another dove, this one with some dusty grey feathers on his head and faded pink on his front, sat inside the nest and puffed out its throat to sing again.

“Of course! There’s more than one mourning dove in Moominvalley.” Moomin leaned back inside and began looking for something. He found it quickly, holding up a book with the word ‘Ornithology’ in a swirly print on the cover. Gesturing for Snufkin to join him, he set it down on  the carpet and opened to a dog-eared page:

The Mourning Dove, also known as the Rain Dove or Turtle dove, is a member of the family Columbidae. Named for their wistful song, the Mourning Dove has two particularly recognizable calls: the two-parted ‘perch coo’, and the nesting call. At a glance, their feathers are plain, with black spots on the wings. While most common west of the Pacific Ocean, very few vagrants have ever been seen in Scandinavia or other parts of Europe…

The description rambled on, but Moomin pointed to a specific line. 

“Here! Mourning doves keep the same partner, sometimes for all their life!” He said. “So, during each mating season, they find each other again.”

Realization dawned on Snufkin’s face. “But this time–”

“She wasn’t here!” Moomin finished excitedly. “When I first woke up this spring, I heard that song, too. It must have been her husband. He was asking her to come home.”

His friend smiled, and his eyes had grown a little misty. “Alby led her back to him.” 

“Snufkin, don’t you see? You did! She never would have gotten back if you hadn’t freed her!” 

Snufkin shifted uncomfortably, sending his gaze to the floor. He’d regretted that day at the aviary for so long, carrying that guilt around with him. But now… he wasn’t sure that he could easily set it down. He shook his head, trying to focus on something else, but another thought occurred to him. 

“How lucky she is, that he waited for her all this time,” He said quietly. 

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. In fact, I think he’s lucky that she hadn’t forgotten him while she was away.” Moomintroll replied easily, closing the book. But then Snufkin locked eyes with him, the sincerity in his gaze catching him off guard.

“Not even for a minute.” Snufkin whispered.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, the words settling like dust over them. Moomin’s insides were doing cartwheels again, and his ears waggled a bit. 

Then, Snufkin seemed to remember himself and coughed. He stood up, extending a paw to help his friend do the same. Outside the window, the music got louder, and a rhythmic clapping began. “We should get back.” 

“Right, of course.” Moomin agreed, feeling a bit dizzy. “We wouldn’t want to miss the maypole dance.” 

“Right.”

They hurried down the staircase, and Snufkin crossed the threshold before Moomintroll did. By the doorway, Sniff was holding strawberries and (suspiciously) another loaf of bread. 

“So, are you going to ask Snufkin–”

“Shush!” Moomin said hurriedly, feeling pink in the face. “I’m working up to it.”

***

The folk of Moominvalley were marvelous dancers, in that they had no talent whatsoever. Some trolls were clumsy, or had no rhythm, or they didn’t know the steps. But everyone certainly had fun. Styles varied among small beasts, so most of it was simply improvised, skipping and clapping and spinning each other around in beautiful circles. It was a lovely chaos, and Moomin was certain you couldn’t find anything quite like it anywhere else. 

However, there were one or two dances that everyone knew and could agree on. One of those was happening right now. Paws and hands joined, everyone circled around the maypole as they sang a melody about tiny frogs. 

“Ej öron, ej öron, ej svansar hava de!” It went. They have no ears, they have no ears, nor do they have tails!

Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden turned to each other, giggling as they held their paws up to their ears and waved them. They then hopped to face the other way, Snorkmaiden towards Little My and Moomin towards a grinning Snufkin. 

“Ej öron, ej öron, ej svansar hava de!”

The only ones not dancing were the musicians and Misabel, who found it distasteful to make fun of frogs for their missing body parts. Nevertheless, the song looped a few more times, a great ring of trolls turning to the increasing tempo, breathless and happy, as the setting sun bathed everything in a fiery golden light. Tiny frogs forlorn, the ring became smaller as some trolls adopted a freer form out in the yard. The funny thing is: the whole time, all Moomin could think about was how in the world he was going to ask his best friend to dance. 

After a while, Snufkin graciously stepped out of the circle to play the music so that Too-Ticky could join in (much to Mymble's delight!). He accompanied Snork, who was playing the fiddle, and picked up Moomin’s harmonica. He smiled while he played. Occasionally, he’d pause to sing along to the lyrics – it was the song he and Moomin had written earlier in the summer, titled “Sötnos”. 

Sweet nose. 

Dearest. 

It was hard to tell while he was still spinning with the others, but Moomintroll swore that whenever he caught a glance at Snufkin during the song, the other boy was already looking straight at him. Perhaps that really meant nothing. After all, they’d composed it together. But Moomin couldn’t help but feel warm, and maybe … a bit hopeful? 

He had to ask, soon, or he was going to positively burst! 

*** 

During all the dancing, Snufkin spent a lot of time thinking. It was… weird. To not close his eyes and see a grounded dove too weak to fly. Her visage reinforced what he already knew to be true… that if he gave his heart to someplace else, he’d lose himself. That comfort was a slippery slope, like running down a hill. 

But now, now he saw her happily swooping under the trees after walking hundreds of miles. He saw her partner patiently building a nest by the windowsill. 

Could he be happy like that?

By the time that the sun was just starting to lower to the sea, Snufkin was nearing his limit, but Moomin caught him before he slipped away. Snorkmaiden and the others insisted that he stayed for the great bonfire. Eventually, Snufkin relented. 

So now it was, that the sky was fading to dusk, and the warm flames were dazzling and ghostly. A handful of trolls were still playing music, but for the most part everyone was tired and content to sit and watch the blaze, transfixed as crackling embers floated up into the sky like lightning bugs. Alby leaned up against their cart, smiling up at the bonfire, shoulder empty.

Then the Mymble’s daughter whispered something to Too-Ticky, and pulled her to her feet. They started dancing. A traditional partner dance. Intimate and sweet. Moomin looked at the two of them. Oh , he thought. He turned to Snufkin, who seemed to have come to the same late conclusion. 

Good for them.  

They smiled at each other knowingly, suppressing chuckles in the firelight.

A few more pairs stood up to dance. Some friends, but mostly couples. 

“Snufkin–”

“Do you want to dance?” Snufkin and Moomin blurted out at the same time. 

They blinked at each other.

Snufkin’s voice was, as always, calm and smooth as a lake’s waters, but his words still came out a bit hurriedly. 

“...with…me…” Moomin finished his question absently, his paw hanging in the air between them. 

His friend looked equally surprised as him. “...Sorry, I–” 

“Yes! Yes, of course.” 

“Really? Oh.” Was all Snufkin said.

Moomintroll faltered a bit. “Do you want to–”

“Yes.” Snufkin huffed a laugh, looking down a bit shyly. “I just… wasn’t expecting myself to.”

Before Moomin could wonder what that meant, he felt the weight of Snufkin’s paw on his, as his friend rose to his feet and they joined the smaller circle of dancers. 

They started slow. Everyone was still a bit under the serene spell of dusk, so the music wasn’t as lively as before. Circling each other, paws joined in the air between them. Then they changed direction and went the other way.

It really is like racing down a hill, Snufkin thought to himself. They clapped twice to the music’s beat. You can’t stop running, or you’ll fall.

They took turns spinning each other around. 

You’re falling.

The music was getting faster; the steps harder to keep up with. They were tripping and laughing and they nearly pulled each other down.

Which way is up? 

Snufkin’s smile broadened gradually, grinning at Moomintroll as though he were something wonderful. Which he was. 

It’s the most fun you’ve ever had. 

Groke, he loved him so much.

…Oh.

Oh, no.

Snufkin had already known this, of course he had. He’d known it since they were kids. 

The problem was that Snorkmaiden’s words were swirling in his head, and his best friend was looking at him as though he’d hung the moon in the sky, and for perhaps the first time, the possibility of being loved back in the same way stared him in the face. And that was more terrifying than anything else. 

So why wasn’t he running?

Chapter Text

It was a few hours past sunset, and Moomintroll and Snufkin were relaxing on the bridge. They lay on their backs, feet dangling above the quiet stream. Hundreds of stars twinkled in the open sky, but Moomin found himself looking over at his friend as they talked.

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you sing!” He was saying. After Sötnos, they’d performed a few more songs they’d been practicing for the party, and had done very well if he did say so himself.

“I know, I don’t do it very often anymore.” Snufkin shrugged. “I hope I wasn’t too rusty.”

“Not at all! You have a lovely voice.”

Snufkin turned away from him a little bit, flushing imperceptibly. “...Thank you. Um, but I prefer to play instruments. It’s less bothersome.”

“How so?”

“Well…” Snufkin huffed a little laugh. “Sometimes, if I sing… it sort of attracts the attention of the woodland creatures, and they won’t leave me be.”

Moomintroll stared at him for a moment. He felt bad for it, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing into the night. Thankfully, Snufkin joined in, although with embarrassed giggles. Moomin eventually calmed down enough to look at him again. He really was very pretty, especially with his features all softened in the moonlight.

“You’re like Snow White!” He said. “Or any fairytale princess, for that matter.”

Snufkin scoffed good-naturedly at the remark. “Well, I’m not a princess.” Then his smile slipped into something more thoughtful, more serious. “I’d like not to be.”

Moomin’s ear twitched at that comment, and he wondering what it meant. “Is that why you wouldn’t borrow Mymble’s dress? A dress doesn’t make you a princess, you know – but don’t tell Snorkmaiden that.” He grinned.

“Yes, well… I know it doesn’t, but… listen, Moomin.” Snufkin sat up.

Little alarm bells rang inside Moomintrol’s head as he propped himself up as well. Groke, had he said something wrong? Maybe he’d made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t called Snufkin pretty out loud, had he? Oh no–

“I, um.” Snufkin blew out a calming breath. “I don’t like wearing dresses, because for a long time, that’s what I was supposed to wear.”

Moomin tilted his head. “Like Mr. Hemulen?”

He shook his head, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “No, not like the Hemulen.”

Snufkin didn’t say anything more, and they just sat listening to the brook and evening bugs. Moomin thought maybe Snufkin had forgotten that they were having a conversation at all. There he was, head tilted back and eyes closed, perfectly relaxed.

“I’m trans.” He suddenly answered.

Moomintroll studied him. “Oh,” he replied.

Snufkin had opened his eyes, but his gaze was fixed serenely on the water. He seemed so calm. Moomintroll’s mind, however, was a whirlwind— frankly, he was panicking a bit.

Trans. Trans what? Transgressional? Transfixed? Transcendentalist? Who just gives the prefix of a word?!

“Well…?”

“Um….” Drat. He was expecting him to answer. Transmigrator? Transformed? Moomin wished for the Snork’s dictionary right then. By some act of grace, though, the answer finally landed in his empty head, and he immediately felt stupid.

“Oh!” Moomintroll said again. “Okay.”

A few seconds later, Snufkin exhaled as if he’d been holding all his breath, shoulders slumping.

“I’m still your friend, you know. But I wanted to tell you.” His voice was tense.

Moomin gave him a small look of confusion. “Thank you, but… why wouldn’t we still be friends?”

Snufkin’s eyes flicked over to him. “Well… some don’t understand it, and you know how folks get when there’s something they don’t understand.”

“Fuss and misery.” Moomintroll quoted humorously, before asking in earnest: “It doesn’t matter though, does it?”

“Not with other people, no. But you’re… you, and I’ve been keeping this from you. I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m a little surprised, of course. I mean, we’ve known each other for so long. But you surely don’t need to apologize! Some secrets are yours to keep, but I’m honored with every one you do share with me.”

Snufkin sighed in relief and plopped back onto the bridge, covering his face. “You’re so good, Moomintroll.”

“Were you worried about what I’d say?” Moomin was incredulous, but made sure to keep his voice kind. He’d just realized how stressed Snufkin had been before this.

“...No. I don’t know. I was worried you’d think of me differently.”

“Definitely not. I’ve only ever known you to be yourself, and that remains true! Though you should probably tell Mymble if wearing dresses makes you really uncomfortable.”

“I will. I think she already knows, though. I’ll do it when I’m ready.” Snufkin said.

And he did. They talked for hours more, but over the next few weeks, Snufkin started sharing the part of him that he’d always meant to. Truthfully, he’d planned for it to be a big secret. But it hadn’t ever been worth mentioning, and it felt like more of a secret with each year that passed. Then, of course, he’d grown up.

It’s funny how you become more afraid as you get older, Snufkin thought.

Reactions from those he confided in varied. Mymble and My already knew, of course. So did Snork, apparently, but he said he’d assumed that everyone else knew, too. Sniff asked a lot of questions, but after a few rounds of explanation he got it. Too-Ticky had hummed and said that knowing yourself so well took wisdom and courage. Snorkmaiden had smiled and given him a hug, asking thoughtful little questions.

Moomin, however, had his own question that he did not voice.

Could he still call Snufkin pretty?