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The river babbled, whispering the words left unsaid that it hoarded in the folds of its foam. The wind sang. Beneath Moomintroll’s feet, the planks of the worn bridge creaked, as though greeting familiar friends. Here, they gathered each year and savoured the fleeting moments of their time together. Here, they blushed and gazed and refused to free the thoughts trapped upon the tips of their tongues. Here, the old bridge would allow them to be, for as long as he could, though he would sigh each time as they went their separate ways.
The smoke from Snufkin’s pipe drifted upward in tendrils of grey, carried along the wind as if in chase of the flocks migrating South. Seeking adventure, even as he promised Moominvalley would always be his home. Yearning to run, even as his legs dangled idly from his perch on the railing, kicking at the air. Never content to stay in place.
”Snufkin,” Moomintroll began, if only to break the silence.
”Hm?” Snufkin replied, lifting the pipe from his lips. He twirled it absentmindedly between his fingers.
”Would— I mean, I know you’ve told me, but … could you really not stay? Would it be so terrible?”
”Ah, Moomintroll, I … am not like you. You know this. My dear friend, I…” He looked to the floor, the brim of his hat tipping over his face. ”I hope you know I think of you, quite often. W-when I am gone, that is. I miss this place. But I cannot stay.”
”I, um, think about you, too, Snufkin.”
”Is that so?” Snufkin grinned, lifting his face such that his hat tilted back yet again. ”But you sleep all that time, do you not, Moomintroll? Are you saying I’m there in your dreams?”
Moomintroll flushed, wringing his hands. ”Well … yes, o-of course! All of my friends are. But you—you…”
”I?”
”I don’t know, Snufkin. You’re … always by my side. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”
”…Oh.” Snufkin took a draw from his pipe. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Silence settled over the pair, slowly creeping into the crevices between their words as each struggled to speak—like moss upon a tree, but not like snow gathered between bricks, for the silence was never a nuisance. A barrier, sometimes. But a comfortable one. Perhaps that did not make sense. It did not have to.
”Moomintroll,” Snufkin began.
”Yes?” Moomintroll replied.
”I have an idea.”
”Is it a good one?”
”I think so.”
”But you will not tell me what it is?”
Snufkin paused. ”No,” he decided. ”Come.”
Hesitating for only an indiscernible moment, he reached for Moomintroll’s paw. Moomintroll glanced down, cheeks pinkening.
”You really aren’t like me. Our hands look so strange together,” Moomintroll noted, quiet, almost sad.
”Not strange, Moomintroll. Different. And I like holding your hand, for that matter. You’re soft.”
”I-I’m … soft, huh? Snufkin, you’re too kind.”
”No such thing,” Snufkin replied, smiling. He hopped off the railing and tugged Moomintroll by the paw towards the forest. ”Let us go. We have ingredients to gather!”
Moomintroll ran after him, stumbling over an unsteady bump of gnarled wood on the bridge. ”Oh! For soup?” he asked excitedly.
Snufkin looked back. ”Moomintroll, are you hungry?” he asked, amused.
”Always!”
Snufkin laughed. ”Not for soup, no. But I am sure Moominmamma will have some when you return.”
”Okay!”
Hand in paw, they ventured into the forest, greeted by the birds that chirped their welcome and the squirrels that skittered from the path to make room, observing from the underbrush. Leaves, berries, and plants were scarce, making room for the snow to come.
”Hm,” Snufkin mumbled, ”Mm. Mhm.”
”What is it?”
”The forest is ready for winter already. Well, I suppose it’s good that she has prepared. I will just have to make do.”
”Snufkinnn,” Moomintroll complained, dragging out the pronunciation of his name. ”Will you please tell me what we’re making? I’m so curious.”
”I will not,” Snufkin replied firmly, lifting his chin to demonstrate his certainty. ”It’s a surprise.”
”Okay…”
”Would you grab some sticks for me, my friend?”
”From the ground?”
”Yes, please, from the ground.”
Moomintroll darted off to find the very best sticks as Snufkin collected leaves and acorns and mushrooms and moss from the forest floor, picked long, pliant vines to twist into string, and gathered tree sap into a small glass jar.
After some time, Moomintroll rushed back to his side, panting. ”Snufkin, look, look! Are these okay?” He proudly presented a handful of sticks, some thick, some thin, some bent, some perfectly straight. ”I didn’t know what kind you wanted, so, um … I got some of everything!”
Snufkin took a moment to gaze at him fondly. ”That was thoughtful of you, Moomintroll. These are perfect.”
Moomintroll beamed. ”What do you need now?”
”I was hoping to find some berries…”
”Oh, there were a few bilberries on that bush over there!” Moomintroll pointed ahead.
”Lovely. Lead the way.”
They walked over; the bush had been very nearby, but Snufkin had not seen it behind the large tree hiding it, like a parent obscuring the view of a shy child who only sometimes dared to peek out behind their back, gripping their parent’s shirt for comfort.
The bush was low to the ground, and consisted only of a few thin branches with drooping leaves, clinging to their berries for just a little longer. It was sad, in a sense. It was not prepared to move on. Take your time, little one, Snufkin thought, as he crouched down to its level.
Gently, Snufkin plucked a lone bilberry from the bush. He considered something, then pulled off another.
”That will surely be enough. Thank you, young bush.”
”Why would you thank a bush?” Moomintroll questioned.
”I have taken something from it, and I have nothing to give back. So I should at least give it my thanks.”
”Ah,” Moomintroll nodded thoughtfully. ”Thank you, bush!”
They made their way back to the stream, their bounty held, in equal parts, in their arms. Once they reached it, they set all their ingredients on the ground beside the rushing water, forever murmuring those pesky little secrets as it hurried past.
“Well?” Moomintroll asked, eyes bright with anticipation.
“Patience, Moomintroll,” Snufkin laughed.
Moomintroll nodded. Yet, as Snufkin worked, he very impatiently tapped at the ground with his paws.
First, Snufkin placed the two bilberries upon a flat slab of stone and crushed them into a paste with a rock. He dipped a fingertip into the dark mixture and painted two dots onto an acorn with a remarkably cone-like cupule. Then, lathering sap onto the cupule to make it sticky, he pressed loose moss he had found all around it, making it both green and delightfully fuzzy. He cut the stem from a mushroom, and handed the cap to Moomintroll, telling him to give it to Moominmamma for soup. He stuck the stem beneath the acorn with sap and reinforced it with vines. He combed through Moomintroll’s pile of sticks, and, finding two especially thin, straight, and small twigs, snapped them each into two. The sap would not hold, so he tied them to the mushroom stem with vines, two near the top and two near the bottom. And, finally, he selected a few especially green leaves and covered the stem with them like a coat, tearing some into pieces to fashion holes for the little stick limbs.
Snufkin looked at the little creature, tilting his head to the side. It was quite shoddy, but there was something very charming about it. He could somewhat see the resemblance.
”There.”
”What is it? What is it?” Moomintroll asked, still tapping the ground. It was unbelievably endearing. Tip-tap, tip-tap. Snufkin smiled.
”Why, it’s me, of course. I’m offended you didn’t realize.”
”O-oh, oh no, I’m so sorry—”
”Moomintroll,” Snufkin sighed fondly. ”I was only joking. It looks terrible. I just thought it might help a bit. So that, in some way, I can always be by your side. Even when I’m gone.”
”Oh. Snufkin, I … I love it. It’s great.” Carefully, Moomintroll lifted the doll from the ground, hugging it close to his chest. He gazed down at it, tears gathering along the lower edges of his eyes.
Snufkin could not help but tear up as well.
Moomintroll looked up at the sound of a sniffle. ”Snufkin? You’re crying.”
Snufkin giggled. Had Moomintroll really not noticed that he was doing the same? ”So are you, silly.”
“What?” Shifting the little Snufkin doll to rest on only one paw, he wiped his face with the other, marvelling at the dampness against his fur. “I am!” he giggled along with Snufkin, each finding their tears equally ridiculous.
Their laughter grew and grew, and together they fell onto their backs, lying amongst the grass that would refuse to leave until overwhelmed by snow. They quieted, slowly, as the sun lowered bit by bit, laughter softening into warm smiles.
Snufkin rolled over to face Moomintroll. Moomintroll gazed up at the retreating sun. Snufkin watched as the golden light lining the edge of his snout gradually faded, first turning pink, then violet, and then disappearing altogether.
“I’ll be going to bed soon,” Moomintroll mumbled.
“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”
“I know.”
“Should I walk you home?”
“No, better not. That feels too much like saying goodbye. I’ll just think about how you’re out here right now, and you’ll be out here when I wake up, and how that means you basically never even left.”
“Okay, Moomintroll. I’ll see you when it’s your tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah! See you tomorrow, Snufkin.”
So Moomintroll jumped up, and walked off, Snufkin-doll cradled in his arms. He did not wave goodbye, for why would he need to? He would see Snufkin tomorrow, after all.
Snufkin gathered his belongings into his bag and sat by the stream. He thought he might fish, but the river was empty. Too cold, far too cold.
He watched the Moominhouse in the distance until each yellow window dimmed to black and the chimney no longer puffed smoke into the winter air. At last, the last light flicked off.
As Snufkin did every year, he crossed the bridge, knowing he would not soon return. And as he did every year, the bridge sighed, feeling Snufkin’s departing steps press down upon his old, creaking planks, “Maybe next year,” he murmured.
Snufkin turned, glancing behind him. Nothing there. He shrugged. It must have been the wind.