Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The forest was like a stranger to him.

It felt too alive, full of scents and sounds that had long since become unfamiliar. The foreignness of his surroundings was worrying, but the darkness was recognizable enough. Everything beyond formed a muddled cacophony of stimuli he wouldn't try to decipher.

There was blood running down his arm. The torn muscle throbbed, protesting his movements but still he wouldn't stop, his feet carrying him ever forward in uncoordinated steps and struggles. His legs got tangled in something, it pulled at the remains of his clothes and he pulled back, harder, sharper. The branches had thorns that cut into his skin.

They were not on his trail anymore. He was unsure of how he knew, his senses have become duller and more narrow than they used to be, put to other uses than that which they were originally meant for - hunting and playing and living, instead of the pure survival instinct coursing through his veins right now.

But he knew still, there were no footfalls or hurried breathing beside his own. Small creatures skittering endlessly between the leaves or the undergrowth, but no baying of something bigger and more dangerous, tracking him by the splashes of blood in his wake.

He was getting tired though, the strain nearly unbearable, and staying out in the open would be a death sentence.

He found a hollow, a small space just fit for somebody of his current stature and, making himself even smaller than he did with them, curled himself up in the tight space, his body heat the only buffer against the slowly chilling air.

Winter was coming on strongly this year. Snufkin had only left Moominvalley a few weeks ago, first trailing south for several days until he was certain he had gone far enough to be in warmer climates. Then, he had done what he usually did on his excursions - pick a direction by some arbitrary rule like which way the wind blows or how many minnows swim down the stream and start walking.

Even so, despite being miles away from the sea and surely already far enough inland to avoid the frightful breezes such a large body of water usually harbored, it was getting colder. The air felt chillier than usual, more often than not Snufkin found the woods quieter and more deserted than he was accustomed too, most smaller animals having already gone into hibernation for the season.

The notion had him thinking fondly of his friend, probably tucked away into his comfy bed by now, dreaming about some summer adventure or another. One they had undertaken in those past few months perhaps, or an entirely new one yet to come.

He pulled his scarf up over his face in some embarrassment, despite there being nobody around to witness it. Snufkin didn't like letting his thoughts stray such paths, especially not when he was so far out from the valley anyway.

He busied himself with other things instead, like where he should sleep this night or what his new song should be about. He probably had months yet to figure that out, but Snufkin was a creature of leisure and often liked to take his time to get things done. He had found there was rarely an occasion where true hurrying was required. And if there ever was, it lay outside the extents of his interests.

A sudden intrusion pulled him out of his thoughts, a sound that didn't belong. It was soft, barely a whimper, but he had keen hearing, one of the many reasons large crowds of people didn't often sit well with him, and so it stood out to him clearly against the more peaceful twittering of the birds among the branches or the flowing of the brook not far-off.

For a few moments, he waited, curious. There was nothing unusual to be heard anymore, and Snufkin was just beginning to think he might have been imagining things, what with the daydreaming and all, when another, slightly louder noise startled him.

He followed its general direction with ease, pushing branches out of the way and stepping carefully through untamed undergrowth, and the air smelled funny, kind of stale and metallic.

It smelled like blood.

In a small clearing up ahead there was a partly hollow tree trunk, the depth of which Snufkin was unable to determine by mere observation alone. All he knew was that it wasn't empty. That something alive and scared and most likely wounded had taken it as its refuge.

Putting down his bag, taking a few steps at a time, Snufkin slowly approached the make-shift shelter. The light was dim, the sun setting blindingly red these days and painting the sky with the colors of fresh flowers, but he could still make out the shape of something curled up inside the hollow. The ground in front was streaked with nearly-dried blood.

He blinked, and two curiously bright eyes blinked back at him.

"Hello there," he tried softly, crouching onto the ground with one hand braced against the earth to keep his balance, fingers brushing against a spread of dead leaves. The creature didn't stir, but regarded him with weary eyes.

Snufkin was unsure of what it was, certainly not a Creep since those tended to make a lot more noise, especially when injured. It moved slightly, the unmistakable sound of claws dragging against the inside of the tree, getting caught on the tiny snags in the wood. Since it didn't talk it was most likely an animal then, perhaps a stray cat.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, a rhetorical question of course since he already knew the answer, but even less intelligent creatures normally responded well to a friendly voice, and Snufkin had gotten into the habit of talking to the various inhabitants of the forest (not because he was lonely. The opposite in fact, since being able to talk without some kind of response was proof of his solitude more than anything else).

He waited for a bit, seeing if the little thing could be coaxed out with patience, but when that didn't seem to work he reached into his pocket. There were just a few pieces left, all crumbled up and he held them out on an upturned palm, waiting for the creature's natural instincts for food to outweigh its hesitation.

"They're good, I promise," he said, lowering the cookies slightly. "Though not terribly healthy I'm afraid." Moominmamma had baked them the same morning he left the valley and had naturally refused to let him go without a small stockpile to serve as provisions on the long road.

Still though, the poor thing seemed too caught in a stupefied state to accept them, practically oozing mistrust. When his arm started to hurt from holding it up for too long Snufkin sighed and shoved the crumbs back into his coat pocket. "I guess you're not hungry."

The sun had dipped below the horizon at an almost alarming rate, the daylight all but gone suddenly. Normally Snufkin didn't mind continuing his journeys through the night, sometimes he preferred it that way, only settling somewhere if he really liked it.

But today had been rather tiring, and as such he decided here would do just fine. He strolled back to his bag and set about putting up his tent and making a fire. The creature observed him in quiet speculation, not making any more noise.

He had been fishing yesterday and there were two of his catches leftover, rolled up in paper to keep them from dirtying up his few other possessions. Snufkin cooked them both, looking over at the tree trunk from time to time to gauge if the smell would be enough to lure the strange animal out of hiding, but it sat unmoving, burrowed deep into the hollow.

Just one of the fish served him well enough for dinner, so he left the other one on the ground in front of the hole before crawling into his tent and trying to get some sleep.

The next morning the fish was gone. Either Snufkin had slept exceptionally deep or the creature was a lot more silent in movement than he had expected. There were fresh splotches of blood among the disturbed foliage, deep red drops hardly visible against the similar autumn hues.

"You're hurt," he said matter-of-factly, crouching in front of it once more. "You want any help with that?" He reached one hand forward into the darkness.

It made a noise then, high-pitched and angry and Snufkin barely pulled back in time when it lashed out with sharp claws, swiping at the air.

He laughed. "Guess not."

The morning was still fresh, with dew on the grass and a slight breeze. He took out his fishing gear and went the short way to the brook, settling on a rock and enjoying the general peace and quiet of the end of the season.

With winter being uncommonly fierce this year, maybe he should consider going more southwards still? It would be interesting, and as long as he kept counting the days of the journey he could make sure he would be back in the valley by the first days of spring.

There wasn't technically any pressing need for him to make it so, of course. But he had an obligation to Moomintroll, and others were always so certain to remind Snufkin of how much his friend missed him when he was late in coming home. Coming back, that is.

He tugged at the line, feeling it snag on something solid. Even bracing his feet against the muddy soil and pulling with all his might didn't dislodge it, so he found himself wading into the shallow instead. The water was practically freezing and Snufkin's hands were numb by the time he managed to untangle the hook, wetness seeping into his boots.

Returning to camp quickly, luckily there was still enough wood left to rekindle the fire. He took off his boots and put them upside down near the crackling flames, warming his hands as well. The creature stirred for a moment but settled again and watched him.

As soon as he could feel his fingers again, Snufkin took out his harmonica, deciding he might as well play something to while away the time. He started with the previous spring song he wrote, hoping it would inspire him for the new one. Then, Moomin's favorite, and in his head, he could easily picture the troll singing the words with him, about tails and bows and jails.

Eventually, he just played whatever came to mind, something soft and comforting. The wounded animal in the tree shifted again, and for a moment Snufkin thought it might come out, but no such thing happened.

When his boots were finally dry and the sun sat high in the sky, he started packing up his things. It went quickly, because there just wasn't a lot, and then he left the bag in the middle of the clearing to approach the hollow one last time. In the light of day, he could see the creature had retreated deeper into its hiding place, though its eyes remained remarkably visible and bright.

"If you're sure you don't need any help, I'm leaving now," he said softly, and the thing didn't make a noise but cocked its head questioningly. Snufkin was sure that would be the end of it, but as he took a step back, the animal shuffled forwards slightly. Another step, followed by more shuffling.

Then suddenly, it sprang forward. He stumbled back a bit, startled by its quick movement. For a thing that was grievously injured and had lost a lot of blood, it was surprisingly nimble. He watched in silent trepidation as it unfurled to its full height, pulling more and more of itself out of the hole.

It was a lot larger than Snufkin had anticipated, making him wonder distantly how it had managed to even curl up in such a way as to fit in the tree trunk at all. It raised itself up slowly then, stretching in such a way that made it seem as if the mere movement hurt, but as it did he could see its height was similar to his own, give or a take a few inches.

More than that, it was human.

Or humanoid, at least.

In stark contrast to Snufkin himself, who could (and certainly often would) be mistaken for a human most of the time, as long as he kept his hat on and his tail tucked under his coat, this man had a distinctly human shape but it was also clear to see that this was where the resemblance stopped.

His eyes were pale fire, burning and intense in hues of blue and grey. He stared now, cautiously, as if assessing the situation calmly and with some detachment, deciding on the next best course of action.

On his face, covered by an ill-matched array of various small scars, were curious markings and there was fur covering his bare feet and bloodstained hands, the claws that had lashed out at Snufkin earlier.

Snufkin waited, either because he didn't know what to do or because he was curious about what would happen, he wasn't certain which. The stranger stood for a few seconds, his gaze drifting around the small clearing, before finally focusing on the boy in front of him.

Then, his knees promptly buckled and he toppled over onto the ground.

Snufkin cried out, kneeling down in front of the man, who didn't make any sounds, but it was plain as day that he was in considerable pain. He was bleeding from various wounds, seeping into his disheveled and torn clothing. His arms and legs seemed to have taken the brunt of the abuse, with lingering cuts and bruises of various sizes in sickening colors. The scars on his face looked similar in nature but older, like they had been inflicted a long time ago. The front of his crumpled button-up shirt was also dirty and bloody.

"Hey." Snufkin tried to reach out and the man growled at him, a low guttural sound. He had braced himself on his elbows, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. Snufkin could see he had sharp canines, larger and more dangerous than his own fangs. "Don't do that," he said firmly.

The man glared at him for a moment, probably judging whether this new situation was a threat. Apparently, he didn't think Snufkin was of particular danger to him because he stilled, expression becoming neutral again, blinking up at him. His tail swayed from side to side cautiously though.

"That's better," Snufkin said, for he was not terribly frightened. He had been bitten by worse things than half-feral tramps roaming the woods before. Little My, for instance.

Upon closer inspection, the rest of the stranger didn't seem much better off than his clothes. Even beneath several layers of dirt, his face looked gaunt. His ribcage was fragile, every breath fluttering in his chest unsteadily. His limbs were lanky and tense. Snufkin could only wonder how long he had been out here. Maybe he had a hard time finding food in the wild?

"Will you sit still so I can patch you up, at least?" He didn't wait for a response, getting up to go and search his bag for first aid supplies. He thanked the stars for the Moomin family once again. Just a few years ago Snufkin would probably not have anything with him, making do with whatever nature supplied. After Moomin had found out though, and he had been very horrified by the thought of his best friend traveling all winter without so much as a bandage on him, he had pretty much forced the Mumrik to at least pack the basics.

The man had taken his time in painstakingly pushing himself up into a seated position, though still hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the ground. He stared at Snufkin as he went about wetting a stray piece of cloth with water from his flask.

"This will probably hurt," he warned but the stranger didn't say anything. He wasn't even looking at him anymore, seemingly having dismissed him as a threat altogether now and carefully scrutinizing their surroundings. When he looked up at the sun, he squinted, as if unaccustomed to the brightness.

Snufkin didn't comment, paying attention to what he was doing. The man didn't pull away from his touch or lash out at him again, ignoring him. When the worst of the dried blood was dealt with and the man's visible wounds were relatively clean, Snufkin bandaged them carefully, as well as he knew how to. He hadn't treated much worse than a scraped knee or shallow cut on himself.

"What about-" he began, reaching out towards the man's chest area. His clothes would suggest larger and perhaps more serious wounds underneath the fabric. But the stranger shot up one hand that caught him around the wrist, stopping all movement. The grip was firm, just on the painful side of too firm really, and Snufkin tried not to wince.

For just a second the man looked him in the eyes, slitted pupils examining his face closely. Then he pushed Snufkin's wrist back towards him and let go, making himself perfectly clear without the use of words.

As Snufkin righted himself, the stranger angled his head up to watch him. His hair was long and badly kept, even by Mumrik standards, falling just below his shoulders and slightly greasy. It was a stark black color, in contrast to his light-toned irises. The new angle exposed the man's throat, which had a strange mark on it like irritated and raw skin. The result similar to what an animal would have, pulling hard and frequently on a collar, Snufkin realized, feeling the anger well up suddenly in his gut. He wasn't the type of person to let rage overtake him, but this-

"So, do you have a name then?"

Once more the creature's attention had drifted away from him, surveying the woods at large, the sun filtering through the branches above them and the final leaves falling to the ground from time to time. Even here, it would start freezing soon, and Snufkin didn't feel like being around when that happened.

He pulled at the brim of his hat, trying to collect his thoughts. Leaving this atypical fellow to roam the forest all by himself and most likely get into a bunch of trouble if not worse was probably not the responsible or sensible thing to do - and Snufkin had always thought of himself as pretty sensible, despite other people's opinions to the contrary.

On the other hand, he wasn't a babysitter (one brief mishap with a couple of young Woodies aside) and wasn't in the habit of taking traveling companions. That was kind of the entire point of his leaving the valley after all.

He didn't even like people.

"Look, I'm going further south," he said eventually. "It might be better for you to do likewise. If you stay here you will die."

The man looked up at him with the same blank expression he had been wearing from the moment they met (save the snarling that one time), giving no indication of having understood anything the boy had said. Maybe he spoke a different language?

Snufkin sighed. Ultimately, people weren't his responsibility or forte. "Safe travels."

He turned to leave, but didn't even get the first step down before he felt something pull at his coat. The man was clutching the fabric tightly, he was still averting his eyes but there was something desperate on his face now, the most Snufkin had seen him emote as of yet. Fear?

There went his chances of having a peaceful winter then.

"Maybe you would like to come with me?"

The man nodded carefully, letting go of the coat in favor of pushing himself off the ground. He held himself awkwardly, defensive, his body language betraying his mistrust. As if he was expecting to be set upon by some invisible enemy at any given moment.

"Can you talk at all?" Snufkin asked, putting all his effort into trying to smile reassuringly but it wasn't like the man was looking at him anyway. He did nod his head again though.

"I see. That's good." He started walking slowly and the man followed, hovering just in his peripheral vision. "I'm Snufkin, by the way."

The man opened his mouth and at first, the sound that came out was barely audible, strained and hoarse, like he hadn't used his voice in a very long time.

"J-Joxt-" It turned into a rasping cough, though it was likely more than physical strain keeping the words at bay, and he shook his head.

There was a sudden feeling of strangeness that befell Snufkin right then. A distant memory that shimmered right below the surface of his consciousness, like a dream you can't really remember the details of after waking up except that it was tragic somehow.

But it was gone just as quickly and he smiled instead, wondering why he felt as if he was forgetting something important.

"It's nice to meet you, Joxt."

Chapter Text

The boy had brown eyes. Dark, the kind of eyes that didn't really betray much of what he was thinking at any given time. He differed from them in that respect.

He didn't trust him. But survival was a strong urge, pulsating in his veins in tune to the pain from his wounds, and if this was something he had to bear it would be so. As soon as he was recovered enough he could always run. The boy didn't look very strong, or fast.

He looked soft. Cautious and independent, but soft.

Soft and familiar, in a sense he couldn't name. Like maybe there had been somebody vaguely like him once, long ago. Somebody with similar brown eyes.

He did not know. His memories had often failed him over the years, confined to dark corners of his mind like he himself was confined to the cell.

But follow, he could, for the sake of surival. Even if just for a little while.

The going after that was a lot slower than Snufkin would have liked.

When the goal was to cover ground, as was the case now, he was used to walking pretty significant distances in one stretch, only resting periodically to eat or sleep. Things like gathering food or firewood were done on the way, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Except for fishing, which he obviously only did sporadically and when a stream was at hand.

Only afterward, when he was satisfied with how far south he had come, would he fall back on the more meandering type of travel he preferred, straying from place to place and staying in a single spot for some time until it bored him and he'd need a change of scenery.

But the stranger, Joxt, was either not used to a lot of walking or he was still too gravely injured to allow for it. His pace was unhurried and often he got distracted by things, sounds or movements. He seemed almost unfamiliarly fascinated by everything.

Several times Snufkin would notice he was alone. Then he would find himself retracing his steps only to see Joxt had stopped suddenly and was staring intently at something or another. Calling out to him was met with silence and only physically approaching him would snap him out of his daze. Snufkin wasn't very used to being ignored and was unsure how to feel about it.

He would be lying if he said it didn't cross his mind to abandon the poor guy mere hours after their impromptu alliance had been forged.

Snufkin was not an unfriendly person, he knew this about himself. But he was also acutely aware of a few very vital things. The most important of which was that safety in numbers was as much of a lie as anything, and traveling into unknown territory with a near-catatonic man who smelled strongly of blood and who might be an escaped fugitive was probably not his most sane move as of yet.

Then again, the possibility of Joxt being an escaped fugitive was probably just another reason as to why Snufkin did want to help him.

"Here," he said, when Joxt had stopped yet again to peer into the thicket with a blank expression on his face. "How about you collect the wood while we walk, like this?"

Joxt took the offered branches without question and without looking at them. He was distracted by the scurrying of a squirrel among the trees.

"Wood from ash trees is best, but oak works just fine also," he told the man.

They resumed walking for a while, Snufkin was keeping an eye out for edible berries and the stray mushroom. He had to consider they needed food for two now.

Before long he noticed he was alone again and with a sigh, he started backtracking, though it wasn't very hard to follow the scent of blood on the wind. Obviously his sense of smell was a lot better than that of the average person, but there were things besides people in the woods also. Things with a lot more teeth and sharp eyes.

Joxt was sitting on the ground, the wood in a little pile at his feet. He had his eyes closed and legs stretched out in front of him. His body was shaking slightly, as if cold. Which wasn't very surprising, the shirt he was wearing was made of thin material and his pants were in tatters, leaving most of his legs bare. He was wearing neither shoes nor scarf. Snufkin watched him for a second before approaching.

"Come on, I have an idea." He held out his hand and Joxt looked at it silently, then got up without taking it.

"Do you think this will fit?"

He held the cape at arm's length. The fabric was coarse, a drab brown color. Joxt took it wordlessly before nodding and pulling it over his head. It was just slightly too small, reaching closer to the waist instead of down to his knees as it was meant to. But at least it would be warmer.

It looked worn too and Snufkin had a stray thought for the cape's owner, who would come into their garden soon to find their laundry line bereft of such a clearly well-loved piece of clothing.

"What about this?" he asked, handing over the straw sun hat that had been lying amidst the vegetables growing near the remote cottage. Whoever lived here plainly didn't think petty thieves would stray this far into the woods, and if they did they wouldn't be interested in stealing clothes. Any other day they would have been right.

Joxt put the hat on as well. It did a lot to conceal his more inhuman features, but not enough for Snufkin to consider parading into human villages with this man at his side. Not that he was planning on doing that either way.

They had found some new pants also, so Snufkin ripped up the old pair, turning his back to grant Joxt some privacy. The cloth could come in handy, and one thin strip he handed to Joxt. "For your hair. So it stays out of your face."

The man raked his claws through the mess on his head briefly, before dutifully tying his hair back. A proper haircut might have to wait until they found somebody half-way equipped at giving one.

"We still have a ways to go," Snufkin said. "Do you think you can manage like this?"

Another nod. Joxt's hands stuck out from beneath the frayed edges of the cape and they were stained with blood. They would have to do something about that too.

As they resumed their journey, Snufkin fell into the same cycle as previously. A couple of minutes of walking, then going back to look for Joxt zoning out somewhere. It was a lot more tiring than any other travel he had ever undertaken, including the treks up the Lonely Mountain with Moomin and their friends in summer. And those were downright exhausting.

By the time the sun was setting they couldn't have come more than a handful of miles.

They made their camp next to a river, after cleaning their hands in the freezing water. Snufkin pitched his tent while Joxt watched him, leaning against a nearby tree. He didn't seem to know anything about surviving in the open. Either that or he didn't care enough to help. While Snufkin was trying to start the fire, he left.

He was gone for at least half an hour, the sunlight slowly fading until the sky turned darkest blue, the moon a white crescent lying in the deepness and surrounded by small pinpricks of stars. Snufkin watched them for a bit, his breath forming small clouds in front of him as the warmth of the day cooled rapidly.

Then Joxt returned, with blood running down his face and a limp rabbit between his teeth.

"Ah," Snufkin said, because really that's about all you can say when a half-dressed, positively unkempt looking man walks up to you in the middle of the forest with a dead animal in his mouth. "D... did you catch that?"

Joxt blinked at him like he was stupid. Or maybe it was just a stupid question.

"How?"

But that too went unanswered. He approached, Snufkin leaned back instinctively and when the poor thing got dropped into his lap he didn't even blink. This might as well be happening.

"Thanks?"

Joxt rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing blood all over, expression as unreadable as ever.

At least they would be having a hearty stew tonight.

Traveling with a companion proved to come with a lot more technicalities than Snufkin had previously considered.

For example, where was Joxt going to sleep?

He had already firmly established he didn't need a lot of space to curl up in and rest. The hollow had barely been big enough for a smaller animal after all, but somehow he had made it work.

Snufkin's tent was a lot bigger than the hollow had been.

But when the night was well underway and he started undoing the laces on his boots, Joxt merely watched him do so before laying on his side next to the fire, with his back towards him.

Snufkin was quite relieved. He was still in the middle of getting used to the constant company as was, even if that company was mute and unresponsive, now at least he could revel in some solitude at night, alone in his tent.

He put his hat in the corner. The flowers along the rim were getting stale, Moomin had picked them for him near the end of autumn. Lilyturf and Hesperantha. He had to press them before they wilted completely. He dug into his bag to find the book, an old tome he read once. He couldn't exactly remember how the story went anymore, but the pages were too damaged by moisture to reread it.

Between the sheets of paper were all kinds of plants he had collected over the years. Mostly flowers, flat and dry and in muted colors, brown-ish because of their age but with just the barest hint of their original hue. Gifts from the valley. Also a few more exotic blossoms he had picked up from faraway places. Those weren't exactly for himself, they had little sentimental value, for memories were always more precious to him than any material possessions could hope to be.

But his friends were always so curious to know where he'd been during the winter, the kinds of places he visited. Stories were great but there was something sacred in bringing back a piece of his journey to share with them.

Moomin had liked them and so Snufkin had kept them and that was the end of that.

He put the new flowers between the pages too, then put his bag on top to serve as a weight, before rolling over to get some sleep.

He woke up to the sound of screaming.

For a few seconds Snufkin just laid there, utterly disoriented. His consciousness piecing itself back together in stuttering motions. It's winter, he's out in the woods, he's not alone anymore. Joxt is with him now.

Joxt.

He was scrambling for the opening, getting tangled in the blanket. He almost fell face first out onto the ground but grace wasn't exactly a concern right now.

Because Joxt was screaming.

He was still on his side, but curled up now, arms tucked in close to his body. The sound he was making was more strangled than anything, a low, abject noise that got stuck halfway up his throat.

Snufkin hesitated, mind empty. He realized with some horror that he had no clue what to do.

There was a fleeting second where he tried in vain to think back on a childhood he didn't remember - or never had. And what his parents or guardians would do if he had a nightmare. How they would comfort him.

He didn't know.

"Joxt?!" he tried desperately, knowing it wouldn't work but feeling useless otherwise. He grabbed one of the man's shoulders, shaking slightly. "Joxt, wake up. Come on now."

Joxt curled up tighter, closer, making himself smaller. Hiding away. He was trembling again but Snufkin knew it wasn't just from the cold this time, though it was certainly freezing tonight.

He shook harder, more insistent. Something too akin to panic made a pit in his stomach and crept up his throat, leaving it too hard for him to breathe. What in the world could he do?

"Joxt, please-"

The man jerked up with a start. The next moment Snufkin was on his back, leaves caught in his hair, his head bouncing painfully against the ground. Joxt hovered above him, his claw gripping at Snufkin's throat, holding him in place with a snarl. His blue eyes looked colorless in the pale moonlight.

They were looking right through him.

(This was how he died. And what a pitiful way to go it was, not even a soul to witness it. He never much feared death, but this was just downright miserable.)

Then Joxt's hold slackened. Recognition seemed to dawn on his face slowly, and it flashed with something almost apologetic, regretful. He let go completely.

Snufkin gasped for air for a moment, pushing himself onto his elbows and the other sat back and watched him. They stared at each other, the midnight breeze was cold and foreign.

"Was that necessary?" he forced out from his bruised windpipe.

Joxt had the same stoic expression on his face now as Snufkin had quickly come to expect of him, but the jerked swaying of a tail gave away his agitation. He stood up and Snufkin thought he might leave for real now.

Then he held out his hand.

Despite the obvious malnutrition and the frailty of his shape, Joxt pulled him to his feet effortlessly. Snufkin brushed the dirt from his shirt.

The air was so very cold, without his coat it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He looked at Joxt, who even with the extra fur probably felt it too. He looked shaken and unsteady.

"Did you want to sleep in the tent maybe?" And he didn't allow himself to think about it twice. Because the thought of sharing such an enclosed space with somebody didn't sound like his very worst nightmare, thank you.

Joxt seemed to consider it. Maybe he could sense Snufkin's innate discomfort at sharing his personal space and was weighing it against the very real possibility of hypothermia. And maybe a tiny part of the mumrik was wishing Joxt would just opt for the frostbite.

Then he crawled into the tent and Snufkin sighed before going in after him.

Much like before (and to his secret relief) Joxt was satisfied curling up in a corner, taking in very little space at all. Snufkin got under his blanket again, trying to get his muscles to be even a little less tense. It was hard, falling asleep when he was acutely aware of the presence of somebody else so nearby.

Sometimes Moomin and he had sleepovers, and while those were nice, certainly the part where they talked well into the night or played cards by candlelight, Snufkin never slept much on those either. Feeling too smothered by being indoors probably, but also being unable to with somebody else lying just a few feet away. This was much the same.

He laid awake, staring at the canvas of the tent until he could see the light of dawn filtering through the fabric. Then he got up, feeling like it was hopeless anyway. Joxt was asleep, but his brow was furrowed and his eyes were pinched uncomfortably.

At first, Snufkin thought he might be having another nightmare - and silently vowed not to try and wake him again if he were - but noticing the way the man had curled up and held his arms, bracing them against his stomach, it was more likely that he was in pain instead.

The morning air was fresh and dewy, their proximity to the river sunk into Snufkin's skin and made him shiver. It proved to be useful now though, as there was indeed a willow growing on the bank not too far off, as he had hoped. Taking out his knife, mostly used for the preparation of food or the occasional whittling, he scraped some of the bark off the tree and collected it in his pockets.

Then he went in search of food. After such a dreadful night, luck seemed more on their side now as there was also an apple tree nearby. He could smell the slightly overbearing scents of the fruit, getting nearer to rotting than fresh now that it was close to the end of the season. But it would be better than nothing, and Joxt didn't strike him as a particularly picky eater.

When he got back the man was nowhere to be seen, presumably still sleeping. Snufkin didn't exactly relish the idea of disturbing his slumber after what happened earlier, so he didn't, simply waiting until Joxt turned up in his own time. He had expected a few hours at most, but it wasn't until noon and the sun sat high in the sky before he finally saw the other appear, bleary-eyed and yawning.

"I got breakfast," Snufkin said, indicating with a gesture the apples he had gathered. "Or well, lunch I guess."

Joxt smelled them wryly, making a face that clearly indicated he vastly preferred a more carnivorous diet, but then he started eating without further complaints. They sat in silence for a bit and it was almost nice.

"Got this also." Snufkin handed him the willow bark when he was done eating and when Joxt didn't show any sign of knowing what it was for he clarified. "Chew on it. It will help with your pains." The man glanced from him to the bark a few times. "It works, trust me."

Joxt nodded but still didn't do anything more.

"What are-" he stopped himself before finishing that sentence since it wasn't a yes or no question, Joxt wouldn't be able to answer anyway. Snufkin always preferred less talkative types but right now the lack of proper conversation with the person he'd be spending at least the foreseeable future with was getting rather tedious.

If only there was a way other than words so they could at least communicate the barest amount.

"I know," Snufkin perked up and Joxt startled out of the daze he had fallen back into, staring at the ground, mind elsewhere. "At the orphanage, there was a girl who could not hear. Sometimes she would talk with gestures. Maybe we could try that?"

Joxt took a moment to consider this, before nodding again.

"Unfortunately I do not recall exactly which signs she used, it was a complicated language all its own. But we could probably come up with our own. It doesn't need to be fanciful, just the basics right?" he said. It would be a work in progress, but nothing about this situation was ideal to begin with.

After a few moments and with another nod, Joxt held a fist against his chest and turned it in a circular motion. Snufkin blinked at him.

"That's-" He hesitated, and in his mind, he was in the orphanage again. The stuffy rooms that always smelled of the vinegar the fillyjonk that ran the place used to clean and the way the windows didn't open properly. He distantly wondered what happened to that girl. "'Sorry'? It means 'sorry' right?"

Yet more nodding. Then Joxt pointed at Snufkin's throat, before performing the same gesture again. It clicked in an instant.

"Oh..." he muttered, slightly awkward at having the ordeal brought up again. "For what happened last night? It's fine. You don't have to be sorry." He got up to start packing the tent. It was already midday and they should really get moving. "I'm more curious as to where you learned that."

Joxt shrugged. I don't know.

Snufkin hummed. "You're a mysterious man, Joxt."

And in the corner of his eye, he could just catch the corner of Joxt's mouth pull up in something that was almost a smile.

Chapter Text

The boy did not seem concerned with covering their tracks. He could only assume this was a good thing, they probably didn't have any pursuers.

Chapter Text

In the loneliness of his cell, there were no things for him to get attached to.

There was darkness, the ages gone by more an illusion than anything. He could tell - by the growth of his hair or the sharpening of his claws - that it had been long, but a day or an hour had lost all meaning and no sunlight reached him from between cold crevices of stone.

There was food and water, brought to him at odd intervals. At times he had grown hungry enough to feel the pain of an empty stomach clenching around nothingness.

And there was them, with eyes of void and only grins. He had hated them more than anything and vowed that whatever happened, however they tried to break him, he would not let them win.

Now there was the boy, who played music full of nostalgic notes and smiled at the world as if it was kind. He needed to remind himself once again he would not get attached. He would rest and thrive and live. Until he was strong enough to find the unimagined things which far reaches of his memory were still looking for.

And then he would leave.

With the passing of time, they managed to outrun the cold weather.

It was a constant threat, a pulse of urgency always at the back of their minds. Joxt was too good at running for comfort, really. As his wounds healed – after several weeks of Snufkin applying the salve and switching the bandages – he became frighteningly swift and agile when the occasion called for it. Which wasn't very often as far as Joxt seemed to be concerned. He had gotten used to the long periods of walking, drifting off less with each day, but was still easily distracted and lazy by nature.

When it rained, he refused to go on. When he was hungry, he refused to go on. Or when he just felt like they had covered enough distance for one day, he would refuse to go on also, sitting himself down under the nearest tree and making himself cozy. Snufkin was more accustomed to walking for long stretches at a time and spread out over several weeks or months. In spring and summer, he would settle down and satisfy himself with roaming the valley in Moomin's company. But during his travels, sticking to the same place too long felt like a physical weight dragging him down.

It was an odd feeling. One he could not put into eloquent words but had been with him for as long as he could recall. Joxt shared the sentiment at least, just in a more eased fashion. He believed anywhere they could get today would still be there tomorrow. In certain terms, Snufkin supposed he wasn't wrong. And it's not like they were going anywhere specific.

At least the traveling had become easier for himself as well. Snufkin would never have thought to be described as the kind of person to enjoy constant company and truthfully – he still wasn't. He never was wont to get lonely or seek out other people. But there was something to be said for amiable silence, and traveling with Joxt felt oddly natural, for as far as that was anything Snufkin could name. They didn't talk a lot but relished in the mutual company and the odd experience of nature changing forms.

There was probably a reason for that, but it was too distant to grasp, so Snufkin decided not to worry about it. Would it make a difference if he knew?

"I can see you're growing weary," he said, noticing the way Joxt started to drift. His bright eyes darted eagerly to scurries in the undergrowth and his hand was clasped to his stomach. It was not his wounds paining him anymore, Snufkin was quite sure of that. But for Joxt, hunger was often more unbearable than injury.

This man had an appetite that could rival even Sniff's.

Joxt blinked at him, then nodded before making a few quick gestures. Over the course of their traveling, while all other bruises and cuts had faded in color or become scars, Joxt's voice had still not returned. Snufkin had heard of it before, of wounds that were severe and invisible in nature and were not healed with time alone. He had begun suspecting Joxt's inability to speak was closer related to that than anything else, but he had no way to know for certain.

Their improvised manner of communicating had evolved far enough now for Joxt to be more understandable at least, including signs they had made up for themselves. I hunt, you fire. Snufkin couldn't help it if his face scrunched up at the arrangement, even if he knew it was for the better. The only river they managed to find for days now was too cold for fish to thrive in, instead, they walked closely along it to follow it downstream. Hunting would be their best way to get food. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"Find something else as well, please," he said. Joxt's facial expressions had grown on him but still remained more neutral than those of most folks. The request had the corner of his mouth perk up slightly. Snufkin knew the older man was endlessly amused by his distaste for meat – namely meat the way Joxt preferred to cook it, with soft sinew and blood still dripping from the flesh. At the next moment, he was already off, only the crunching of leaves and the distant cry of a bird any indication that he had moved. Snufkin shook his head and set about making their campsite, gathering kindle from the surrounding tree-line.

The tent came first. When laid out side by side so close together, their two blankets partly overlapped and that too was something Snufkin was starting to get used to. They did not do it on purpose, but it seemed no matter in which position or how far apart they started, somewhere in the night they both inevitably tossed and turned until there was some form of physical contact. It was either the natural instinct to search out heat on cold winter nights or it was a smidge of comfort they would both deny themselves otherwise, Snufkin did not know. But he knew there was no helping it and as with most things in the world he could not help, the mumrik had learned to simply accept it instead.

He put his backpack in the corner, then retrieved his book. It had been a couple of days since he had last shifted the flowers and he needed something to occupy himself with while waiting for the fire to spark properly. Using a fallen log to sit on, Snufkin started rearranging the flowers that still needed a little more time to dry completely onto new pages, while putting the ones that felt rough and brittle to the back of the book carefully. Some of the older ones had creased or been crushed over time, but there was little use to hold on to the ethereal beautify of nature. They were only meant to be symbolic of memories he held dear.

Not for the first time during this journey, Snufkin wondered what Moomin was doing. Would the troll still be fast asleep, or would something have woken him, and was he having just as unusual a winter as Snufkin himself was experiencing? There would be plenty of stories between the two of them, then.

The sound of a twig snapping in half behind him nearly made Snufkin drop the book into the flames. He clutched it tighter to his chest, groaning his displeasure at Joxt managing to sneak up on him unnoticed. "You really don't make any noise, do you?" he asked, curling his tail around himself reflexively.

Joxt smirked at him with that self-satisfied delight Snufkin had come to recognize as one of the only emotions his traveling companion openly displayed. He jumped over the log nimbly, one hand holding the price his hunt had gained him, but the other one clutched into a loose fist. He indicated for Snufkin to open his hands, and when he did, dropped a handful of berries into them.

"Thanks." They were a dull blue in color and not something you could usually expect to find in winter. Either they were further south than Snufkin had assumed, or these weren't what he thought they were. "I can eat them, right."

Joxt was roasting his meat but looked up at him at those words, face back to being a blank slate. He gestured at his own palm, then held three fingers to his mouth in a familiar gesture Snufkin immediately recognized.

"I know, I'm asking if you're certain they're not poisonous. I'm assuming you're not trying to kill me."

Joxt nodded, pointing at himself and the side of his forehead with an outstretched palm.

"But how, I thought you lost your memories?" Snufkin didn't wait for an answer. He wasn't inclined to be naturally distrustful of others, unless they gave him good reason to be, and even if the berries turned out to be bad, a few were not likely to kill him. It wouldn't be the first time he had gotten sick on the road.

In answer to his question, Joxt shrugged, followed by a few more signs. Some things stay. Snufkin nodded. The berries were small but firm and the taste was familiar, like he had them before but didn't remember where. After finishing them he returned to his flowers, resuming what he was doing before Joxt had startled him. The man was eating his disgustingly semi-cooked meat, watching him work. He always seemed oddly fascinated by the different colors and shapes of the flowers.

With a sudden hum, he caught Snufkin's attention, motioning for him to go back to the previous page. Snufkin did, opening the book slightly turned downward to reveal a pair of circular Peony blossoms with tightly woven leaves. The original deep red color had faded over time into a more brown-ish red hue that looked eerily like dried blood. Joxt stared at them intently for a few moments, before signing some more.

"This one is very pretty," Snufkin agreed with a faint smile, recalling where he had found it. "The place it grew was quite unusual. The flowers carry an important significance for humans, but I found them more special for the sights alone."

Joxt quirked an eyebrow at him. Any mention of humans did not go over well with him, which was fine with Snufkin since he wasn't exactly fond of humans himself. But the scar around Joxt's throat was visible still – would probably remain there forever – and Snufkin did not need to be a genius to realize Joxt's grudge might run deeper than tissue jaded. Deeper than he could comprehend.

He could not imagine the pain he would feel should somebody try to take his freedom away by force.

"Actually..." As he spoke, he closed the book again and set it down on the trunk. "I do think that, given the proper directions, it wouldn't be too hard for me to find that place again. It has been long since I've passed there, we could go? I'm sure you would like it."

Joxt did not give any indication of hearing his statement, stretching his long limbs out and yawning. He had pulled the ribbon from his hair and the strands hung loosely over his shoulders, longer than before. The ends were getting easily tangled, despite keeping it tied up most of the time, and there were several leaves and twigs stuck in it from their forest escapades. His hands and feet were dirty as well.

Snufkin frowned at the sight. "You're not getting in my tent like that."

Joxt froze and Snufkin could see he was inwardly debating if that was a challenge he should take the other up on. Even with their limited ability to communicate Snufkin had not taken long at all to come to know his new friend's personality as one that liked to be contrary just for the sake of being contrary. If somebody told Joxt to go one way, that was only certain to drive him in the other direction. Snufkin admired the tenacity, in the face of anybody but himself.

But he had dignity and not sharing his tent with a feral vagrant was a line he might refuse to cross. He had some manners.

They stared at each other for a moment, a stalemate of resolution, but one Snufkin was sure he would win. Joxt was not above sleeping on the ground, but with how chilly nights could get, even he might be ill-advised against it. Perhaps realizing this, Joxt rolled his eyes and got up to make his way over to the river. Snufkin followed dutifully, making sure to grab his bag from the tent first.

He sat on the riverbank and watched while Joxt washed himself. The man removed his hat and cape first, hanging them on a nearby tree branch. Rolling his pants up to his knees, there was some hesitation as Joxt seemed to debate on how to proceed. It only lasted for a second though, before he pulled the tattered shirt he had been wearing ever since they met over his shoulders.

Snufkin bit his tongue to not let some exclamation escape him. Joxt threw him a glance, but there was no emotion behind it. He waded ankle-deep into the river and started washing his arms. Bending over only made the welts along his back stand out more in the dimmed light cast by sunset. They were several inches long each and spread out seemingly at random, at odd intervals along the bare skin, starting from just beneath Joxt's neck to his lower sides. There was no consistency in their angle or direction, meaning Snufkin had to make little guess as to what could have afflicted them.

Adding to the other injuries, there was a grim picture forming in his mind as to the exact circumstances of Joxt's imprisonment.

The pebbles on the ground were smooth and he grasped a handful of them to steady himself. The texture was off, or maybe it was just the odd tingling sensation in his fingers. Snufkin felt nauseous. Taking one of the stones, he tossed it into the water to distract himself. Joxt looked up for a moment, then continued splashing water into his face and over his head, soaking the messy tangle of his hair as best as he could.

When he turned around to get out of the water, Snufkin finally got a look at the wound that had been bleeding the most when they met but which he never got to treat, a jagged scar that was darker than the others and badly healed. It looked painful, but Joxt gave no indication of being bothered by it anymore. Snufkin had no idea what could have caused this one but found he preferred not to speculate any further.

"Sit down," he said around the lump forming in his throat. Joxt looked skeptical about his intentions but complied nevertheless. He was always more agreeable when he was tired, and with the evening bleeding into night, Snufkin knew how to take advantage of such things. He dug into his backpack to find the small silver pair of scissors. "Now, stay still."

Mostly used for the occasional cutting of cloth in the past, Snufkin couldn't remember where he got them from. The blade was rather dull, but he hoped it would still serve to undo some of the mess Joxt's hair had become. He pulled the locks back with one hand and, using the line of Joxt's shoulder as a guide, Snufkin carefully started cutting. It was a little trickier than he expected but eventually the job was done, if slightly crooked. Taken into account their natural curliness, how uneven it had turned out became hardly noticeable.

He briefly used his fingers to comb what remained into a more tidy state. Joxt made a deep noise, which for a moment had Snufkin thinking he was growling again. But the purpose of the sound was something else entirely. "Sorry if it is not very adept, but it will work," he said, brushing stray hairs from Joxt's shoulder. His hand skimmed right against the bandages around the scar of his throat and this made the purring stop immediately as Joxt froze. Snufkin pulled back his hand quickly.

He retrieved the ribbon from his pocket and handed it back to Joxt, who tied his now much more manageable hair into a low plait. He pulled his clothes back on too and Snufkin laughed softly at the picture it made. "You almost look presentable."

Joxt seemed childishly annoyed at the comment and that made Snufkin laugh too. He didn't feel like getting up just yet, so he didn't. He threw another stone into the river, enjoying the way it splashed and sent little waves to the edge of the water. He had assumed Joxt would return to their campsite and maybe go to sleep early, but instead he stalked over and took a seat next to him on the riverbank. He picked up a pebble as well, and threw it in such a way that it skipped on the surface once before disappearing into the current.

Too fast, Joxt signed, trying again with the same result. The flow was too strong to allow for the trick to work properly.

Snufkin nodded. "The river in the valley flows slower in midsummer. It easier there, I think my record is five times, from the bridge down."

Joxt inclined his head. He had never shown much interest in Snufkin's tales but evidently felt in a more receptive humor tonight. Snufkin hadn't minded him not listening – it wasn't like he talked about it all that much – but with the orange sky fading into dark blue he was feeling nostalgic for a place he had never been and homesick for what wasn't even his home, and he didn't care if that sounded silly.

"The valley, it's where I go in spring and summer. It's truly beautiful there, quite desolate, and entirely too small to wander freely. But somehow adventure seems to find us there either way," he explained.

Snufkin turned his head to see Joxt's response. Flowers? he signed, one of the first they came up with together, followed by the motion of opening a book. He pointed over to the campsite for good measure.

"Some of them. But most come from other places, places I've visited. I bring them back for Moomintroll."

Joxt stared at him, his face a blank slate of incomprehension. Snufkin realized the man had probably never heard of trolls before and searched his mind to come up with some sufficient way to explain, finding none. "He's my friend." He clasped his hands together at the last word, suspecting this might be one Joxt could be familiar with. Going by the short nod he got in response, he was right.

"What about you Joxt, do you have any friends?"

Instead of answering, Joxt repeated the same gestures, but pointed at himself this time and then his eyes. Flowers, I want to see.

Snufkin pondered on it for a moment. He knew he had said he probably could find the place quite easily given he could get a firm idea of where they were right now first, but it also had been ages since he had been there and maybe his confidence in his own navigational skills was misplaced. He only had tried revisiting spots along his past journeys a handful of times before, usually with mixed results.

But if Joxt really wanted to go there – and for some reason Snufkin was feeling an odd sense of importance in returning there as well – than he was more than willing to make the attempt.

"I'll make sure we'll get there," he said firmly like maybe it could be a promise.

And when Joxt smiled that much more sincerely, then that only solidified his resolve.

Chapter Text

His memories had not returned to him.

He had not expected them to, not in any concrete sense. It had been ages, years of them bleeding out of his mind, trickling like water through clasped hands, fluid and flighty. There had to have been something before Them, before the imprisonment. But he had come to a point where he didn't recall much more than his name and a vague sense of knowing what must lay outside the walls of his cage.

But that did not mean he could not yearn for something.

In darkness diluted, he had told himself this yearning had been for freedom. He had dreamt not, but thought often of running across untamed wilderness and going where he pleased. And a complete absence of pain.

Freedom he had gotten, though it had granted him none of those other things. His yearning remained – sticking to the back of every thought slick like blood. He didn't know what he was searching for, but he knew it would become clear to him when he found it.

And the flowers were as good a place to start as any.

Figuring out where they were proved to be more difficult than Snufkin could have anticipated.

He cursed softly on both the moon and stars for his own stubbornness at refusing to carry a map. Asking for directions was also out of the question so long as he did not have a name for the place they were looking for. They ventured through the forest in the general south-eastern bearing they had been going all along, because that is where he knew the spot to be found. But the world was a vast place and the chances of them just stumbling upon the exact same flower fields he had encountered by chance so many years prior seemed unlikely.

"I know you would have some choice words for me, could you talk," he told Joxt. "But I do believe our best chances are to approach some form of civilization to find our way."

Joxt grunted his displeasure. Since visiting the village to get medical supplies, they had not encountered anybody along their journey, human or creature alike, which by now had been going on for weeks. Snufkin knew this area was a remote one, most towns spread thin over the countryside and with thick forestation covering all else. If one followed the rivers, they were sure to run into somebody eventually, but that's exactly why they had stayed clear of them for the most part. The wild provided for all their needs.

Except for their need to locate themselves, and that happened to be exactly what they needed most right now.

"The problem is finding it..." he muttered, more to himself than his companion. Joxt rolled his eyes, but clearly resigned himself to Snufkin's will. Displaying his nimble nature, he climbed the nearest tree in the blink of an eye. Snufkin stood there, watching the movements of the leaves as Joxt made it as far up as he could go with the branches still able to carry his weight. He dropped down a few seconds later, taking hold of the back of Snufkin's coat to turn him in the right direction.

Snufkin shook him off quickly, laughing under his breath. "Yes, thank you Joxt."

They walked for another short while, the sun high in the sky and throwing dark shades on most of the woodland. Its warmth did not reach, the air still crisp and breezy despite the hour of noon. It wasn't cold enough to warrant worrying anymore, but the season was definitely reaching its peak. Before they knew it, it would be becoming spring again. And when that happened, Snufkin would like to return to the valley.

He idly wondered if Joxt would come with him there too.

As they approached a small hill, the trees thinned out somewhat to allow for a better view. It was not much more than a dirt thoroughfare trampled down by repeated use. If Snufkin were to guess, he'd say it was the type of path used to connect two towns or for use as a shortcut, but not one traversed by horse or carriages. They followed it in the direction Joxt pointed out until they came upon the main road, a much bigger one with small ditches lined by dots of shrubbery on both sides. It was clearly of human making, you wouldn't find anything like this in the valley. Once again they walked along it, hoping to come upon something of use.

And perhaps the curses had been overhasty of him because their luck turned with the sight of a junction, two other roads splitting off from the one they were currently using. A wooden post fastened with arrows and faded by time was pushed into the ground there. Just as Snufkin was about to read the crudely painted-on lettering, however, Joxt's hand curled at the back of his coat again.

This time the motion was followed by a sharp tug and he fell back on his bottom as Joxt pulled him into the ditch. Snufkin was about to open his mouth and complain – or just inquire whether it was midwinter madness that had overtaken Joxt – but the other's hand over his lips kept him quiet. The next instance, the sound of distant footfalls made it clear to him what had Joxt so agitated.

Snufkin nodded and Joxt lifted his hand away, but still held the other grasped around his coat. The footsteps became louder slowly, then were accompanied by voices talking. The shrubbery concealed them from view, but from between them, Snufkin could see two women carrying baskets filled with pears approaching the junction from the other end. They were talking amiably among themselves and did not spare a second glance at the ditch or signpost, meaning this was an often-used road for them. They headed off the same way Snufkin and Joxt had come from.

As soon as they had disappeared from view, they both scrambled out of the ditch. "That was rather hasty," Snufkin said, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulders again. "I don't suppose they could have been much trouble."

Joxt chose not to respond but stared for a bit in the direction the women had left. Then he inclined his hand for Snufkin to follow him, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Snufkin was curious what had caused such an expression, so followed without question - momentarily forgetting about the signpost. He had an inkling of a guess as to why Joxt wanted to explore this way first.

This man was always guided by his stomach.

They walked along the stretch of road which the women had come from and sure enough, soon came upon a wide piece of land used as an orchard. The trees were planted in a deliberate pattern, the kind you would never find in nature. A first few rows were hung with pears, plump and sweet-smelling now that the season was tapering to its end. But beyond Snufkin guessed other fruits would be grown and there might even be a farmhouse. The entire property was guarded by a flat-topped white fence that barely reached the height of their hips.

"What do you think?" Snufkin asked, but found his answer in Joxt already jumping the fence. He did it in one smooth motion, bracing his hand against the wood for leverage. He waited for Snufkin to do the same.

There might be people further on, but from their vantage point, the entire grove looked deserted. Looking up, most of the pears were heavy enough to weigh the branches down, so they were easy to reach. Joxt immediately bit into one, but Snufkin decided to first grab a few for their travels before taking one for himself, careful to put the spare ones away in such a manner that the fruit would not get crushed by his other items. "Looks like they have a plentiful harvest this year."

Joxt had sat himself down on the fence now, using the flat parts as seating. His legs dangled off the side, bare feet barely brushing the ground. Snufkin didn't particularly feel like sitting down himself, and slowly meandered down the tree-line. For some reason, the sugary taste was reminding him of the valley. Moominmamma always made the most delightful pies, and on breezy days she would cook the leftover fruit in a cast-iron pot on a large fire outside the house to preserve as jams. The delicious scent was always sure to bring even the shyest creatures out of hiding.

Thinking of the valley once again lead his thoughts to the upcoming spring, and the spring song he should surely start writing soon. It had been a strange autumn so far, and a stranger winter still was awaiting them. He wondered how that would reflect in his music, changing with the seasons. Whether that would be the case or not, he definitely wanted Moomin to like it as much as he did the last ones.

Maybe he should ask Joxt's opinion while composing?

His thoughts had been so deep and peculiar – unlike him, perhaps, but it was becoming somewhat of a habit - that he nearly ran into the wooden post in front of him. Snufkin took a step back, observing the human contraption with a raised eyebrow. There were no words on it, but instead a red marking in the shape of a cross he had seen too many times before to count. It was the kind of signal people used to keep others out.

Curiously, he looked beyond the sign, to see what this forbidden treasure might look like. But there was not much more to see than the orchard, and he realized belatedly that they had probably unwittingly bypassed a similar sign earlier. He heard the crunching of grass behind him and looked over to see Joxt. Maybe he had come because Snufkin had been too deep in his musings to realize how far off he had trailed.

The man titled his head slightly, as if this was the first time he had seen a sign such as this. Humans? he asked.

"Not just humans," Snufkin mused. "Some strange characters care about the concept of property." It wasn't a completely foreign idea to him – it wasn't as if Snufkin did not own things. But owning the very land and all that stood upon it? Laying out markers to cordon off your pieces of the earth from all others, and to claim no man was even allowed to cross it in passing?

No, he could not understand that.

Joxt looked at the sign again, then raised his hands. Repeat. It was a gesture that had become plenty useful for them, whenever Snufkin used a word Joxt did not understand.

"Property?" he asked, to which Joxt nodded. "It's when people count a place as a possession, say it is theirs and nobody else can even step on it."

His explanation seemed to make realization dawn on Joxt's face, eyes widening slightly. Snufkin was just about to ask if he had remembered something, when Joxt took a bold step forward and grabbed the sign by the wooden part that held it upright.

Then he pulled it from the ground with astonishing fluency. He lifted it slightly above his head and slammed it against the nearest tree, where it promptly shattered into four separate pieces. The sound was so sudden and deafening, Snufkin merely blinked at the spectacle, dumbstruck.

The cascade of overripe pears knocked loose from their perches by the action, which then proceeded to rain down on them – one of them managing to knock Snufkin in the forehead quite thoroughly – brought him back to reality. To make matters worse, what followed immediately after was an angry shout from somewhere along the other rows of trees.

"Quite well done," Snufkin said hastily, grabbing at Joxt's sleeve to pull him along. "But now I think it's a better idea to make ourselves scarce."

At least Joxt seemed to be a quick fellow in both body and mind, and caught on to the consequence of his action quickly. They sprinted through the trees at a hare's pace, so fast Snufkin had to hold on to his hat in order not to lose it on the way. They reached the part of the fence adjacent to the road much faster than it had taken them to reach the sign, and jumped it just as easily as they did on the way in.

They did not slow down immediately and kept running until the orchard had disappeared behind a bend in the path, the sound of pursuit long since faded. By then, Snufkin was full-on laughing, having trouble catching his breath. He could easily feel his own heartbeat against his palm, racing away in amused exhilaration. "Heavens," he said between chuckles, finally slowing down to a more manageable pace. "I take it you're not an advocate of property, Joxt?"

And if his ears had not completely deceived him, then surely he heard Joxt laugh along.

The sound was deep, more of a rumble. It was like thunder on the horizon, creeping over the mountains and heavy with the smell of falling rain and rivers overflowing. There was just the trace of a tenor in there, like maybe Snufkin could have heard the underlying voice that had produced such a warm laugh if he tried hard enough.

If Snufkin didn't know any better, he might have thought it sounded familiar to him.

Very bad, Joxt signed resolutely, with a grin.

Snufkin nodded. "I agree."

By then they had come back to the spot where the road met two others and the wooden signpost they had neglected earlier. "Now don't go destroying this one before I can read it," Snufkin joked. He peered at the letters, hoping any of the names would look recognizable enough. Only one of the words held meaning to him – and it just so happened to be the only path they had not taken yet. "I do believe this city is one I've been to before. A very populous one, nearly as big as three towns put together, but on the way to where we want to go."

Even more so than before, Joxt didn't look pleased with the prospect of mingling with others. Snufkin laughed, setting off to their destination with renewed vigor. "We don't have to actually go among them if we don't want to," he assured. "Just try to stay out of trouble, no more vandalism for now."

No promises, Joxt told him.

Chapter Text

Slowly, he had begun to wonder at how easy it was to be near this child.

He had resisted it – maybe he had spent so much time resisting everything the world threw at him that it had become the most natural reaction for him. With Them it had always been much safer to push everything way, lest your trust could be broken or used against you later.

And he didn't know if he liked people. He hadn't liked Them, but perhaps before Them there had been others he could tolerate. Others he cared for, even. It traced along the edges of his memories, cold and foreign.

But even then he could never be certain if that feeling was real or something conjured out of loneliness creeping in at night.

He could not delude himself into thinking he would find anybody either way. Could not permit himself to hope for something so fragile. The only thing he dared wish for was release from the chains and that had happened. Not by some kind of miracle or chance, but by him waiting patiently for a weakness to expose itself in Them that he could exploit.

Still, part of him might be hoping for something more, though he would not let himself dwell on it.

Some things once lost, can never be found.

They arrived at the town on a chilly late afternoon just a few days after they visited the orchard.

The place was bigger than Snufkin remembered. Either time and travel had clouded his memory and he hadn't accurately recalled how big it was, or it had grown over the years he hadn't been there. Either way, they had left the thick growth of the forest behind them half an hour ago and were trudging along meadows for the remainder of that time. A winding path led the way and there were some houses around, surrounded by fields used for farming. Along the way, they encountered a handful of humans, but aside from a curious glance here or there, they were not bothered.

Snufkin knew some creatures even preferred to live near humans instead of secluded from them, and when they did it was likely to be around towns such as these. Where it was easy to scurry away at the drop of a hat and get lost in the crowds, where produce and living space both were in ample supply. That did not mean that most of them were openly parading their presence though. Regardless of which humans knew about their existence or not, most would still give a side-eye to anything not their own species, unless they themselves dabbled in witchcraft or other unmundane activities.

Finally, the town dawned in front of them, slightly below since it was surrounded by slopes. While not a capital by any stretch of the imagination – Snufkin had never been to any himself, but he had heard about them just enough to know they were much larger still – the sight alone gave him pause. Countless houses clustered together before them, carefully laid cobblestone forming an intricate network of streets between them. Some of the houses were two stories high, with white clay on the bottom and wooden scaffolding on top. Compared to the strange house of his friend back in Moominvalley they might not be that tall, by most village standards they looked absolutely enormous.

Snufkin noticed Joxt had become even more reluctant to carry on than he already had been before. The sight before them gave him pause and for a moment Snufkin thought he might refuse to continue their journey this way. But it seemed the promise of finding these flowers had meant something meaningful for Joxt – Though what exactly Snufkin could not guess. He frowned at the town like it had personally affronted him.

"I'm afraid we have to pass through at least," Snufkin said, hoping the words could convince Joxt. "It won't be a problem to find what we need, I know where to look. It'll only be for a short while."

Joxt absorbed this information with his usual expressionless facade, but eventually, he gave a short nod. He gestured in a way Snufkin had never seen him do before.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean..."

Repeating the gesture with a frown didn't help any, so Joxt switched to another one. Stay close.

Snufkin shook his head as he resumed walking. "I would be far more worried about you wandering off than me."

The joke did not seem to amuse his friend. As they approached the town, Joxt only grew more tense until it became far too impossible not to notice. They stepped off the path to let a man with horse and cart pass them safely, his load an immense number of crates filled with vegetables and several bales of hay. The man stared at them as he passed, though it was hard to see his expression hidden behind a bushy beard.

Joxt bared his teeth at the man and he quickly turned away again.

"Listen," Snufkin said, getting Joxt's attention by tapping him on the arm. "You behave now. Keep your hat on and your tail tucked away and people will barely notice us. And smile for goodness sake, you're bound to scare them like this."

Giving Snufkin his best approximation of a smile, it looked so forced on Joxt it resembled an animal about to jump its prey.

"Not like that. Anything but that. Just follow my lead." He sighed. Getting this grown man to behave personably for a few hours might turn out harder than teaching Little My table manners. "We'll be gone before nightfall."

That at least seemed to alleviate Joxt's mood somewhat. They entered the town from the north end, passing only briefly under a large arch meant to indicate the border between the town proper and the farmlands beyond. The first few roads branching off from the main street were cozy, cushioned on both sides by small houses pressed tightly together. Some of them had tiny gardens for the purpose of keeping chickens or growing flowers, and people mulled around while amiable talking among themselves. On one corner there was a forge, where a metalsmith was busy at work at his craft.

Joxt stopped to take in this sight. Snufkin did not know if he had ever seen anything like this before – or if he remembered if he had.

Further on the streets became wider while the houses got packed together even closer. Now they touched each other on both sides and had no gardens. The two-story houses Snufkin had observed from up the hill stood among them. Upon closer inspection, they were mostly inns which used the lower floor as a bar or eatery and the upper part as rented rooms and board. Some of them were simply houses, presumably for those with more money or a higher social standing.

At last, they came upon the middle of the town: a large square bigger than a patch of wheat. Not that you would notice this, as the entire thing was currently covered in market stands of different sizes. Hung from the wooden tops was colorful cloth to protect the wares being sold from the weather elements. The air was ringing with shouts, sellers trying to tempt perusing customers into buying. This was the most crowded place in the town probably – and indeed the most crowded place Snufkin had been in quite some time. He felt Joxt draw closer to him, radiating nervous energy again.

Snufkin grabbed his hand briefly and squeezed it reassuringly. "In and out," he said.

Just like he had predicted though, most humans did not give them a second glance as they traversed the market. Snufkin had intended to merely go around, what they came for was on the other side of the square after all. But on second thought and with the few coins he had left in his backpack in mind, he wanted to see if anything was worth getting first. Joxt stuck close to his side, an ever-looming shadow behind him, but he rather that than lose him and have to go looking in this throng of people.

In the end, Snufkin bought a handful of cured meats, which had Joxt perking up somewhat at least, and dried bait used for fishing. With his last coin – feeling it was useless to keep hold of it – he got Joxt a scarf. "For winter," he explained. The fabric was coarse and undyed, accounting to its cheap price, but big enough for Joxt to hide the bottom half of his face in if he wanted to. It was sure to keep him warm and conceal the scarring on his throat, which would most likely spare them more apprehensive looks.

Thanks, Joxt signed and wasted no time putting it on. He looked relieved to have it and this relieved Snufkin in turn.

When they had almost made it to the other side of the square, Snufkin spotted the store they had come all this way to find. Despite how much the rest of the town had changed over the years of his not visiting, the old-worn wooden sign had remained exactly the same. He remembered the specific wood engraving on it and was about to point this out to Joxt when he noticed the man was not behind him anymore.

His heart might have just skipped an entire three beats upon this realization – and Snufkin's mind was already hard at work conjuring up frightening images of the kind of trouble Joxt could get into in such a short amount of time – but not a moment later he already saw the cause of all his newfound worries standing a mere ten paces away, enraptured by a street performance.

It was the usual kind of act you would see at a place such as this. If Snufkin had to guess the performers were probably from a traveling band or circus, trying to generate interest for their shows (which would be held just outside the town in a tent) by giving a sneak-peak at what they had to offer should people decide to visit. He walked over and Joxt barely seemed to register they had almost lost each other, completely focussed on watching what was happening in front of him. It reminded Snufkin a bit of a child completely absorbed by the unexplained.

Most of the other spectators were children also, making the comparison hold even more water. They were clinging to their mother's skirts but ever curious to see what these strangers were doing. One performer was juggling several balls in what seemed effortless ease while another played the lyre. But most eyes were drawn to a woman, who was holding two burning torches and juggling them in a similar manner as her companion.

"Quite something what humans come up with to entertain themselves," Snufkin said quietly so as not to be overheard, but Joxt gave no indication of hearing him either. He supposed it wasn't that much different than the talent show held in the valley once upon a time.

It was an impressive display, one he was sure would mean plenty of people would visit the full show. Especially as the woman then proceeded to take out a flask she had hanging around her hips. First swallowing half a mouthful of the liquid inside, she used it to breathe a short plume of flames into the air, much to the delight of the crowd around her and smothered gasp of the young ones.

Joxt on the other hand had gone completely rigid. The flames reflected in his eyes, a stark contrast between red and blue, as they went impossibly wide for a moment. Snufkin got the sudden impression that sticking around would not be good for either of them.

He grabbed Joxt's arm, surprised that he wasn't shaken off instantly and then even more so when Joxt allowed Snufkin to drag him off without any preamble, back towards the edge of the square and out of the crowd. Between two shops there was a little alcove, probably used to provide a backdoor for the businesses. Snufkin pushed Joxt into it, certain that it would give them some privacy at least.

Joxt was still unresponsive. He had hunched in on himself slightly, hands grasping his elbows. It was a defensive position, Snufkin became suddenly aware of. As if he was hiding some part of his body from the outside world. Snufkin shook Joxt by both arms softly, voice calm and collected. "Joxt- Are you listening to me? It's going to be fine, I'm here."

Uncertainty clouded his heart. Recalling previous events, Snufkin had no way to know if his words would reach Joxt when he was in this state. But he knew even more so that he had to try. This was not like before, it was not anger marring Joxt's posture.

It was fear.

Snufkin had no idea what to do about that, really. But instinct had served him well before when dealing with Joxt's strange ways – and once again maybe it was a certain family of trolls rubbing off on him more than he ever intended – so he just did the first thing that came to mind. Pressing his forehead against Joxt's, involuntarily Snufkin wanted to scrunch his eyes closed. It always was a gamble with this man how he would react to anything.

But nothing as volatile as previous encounters repeated. After maybe a full minute of them standing like that, Snufkin still with his hands on Joxt's arms and muttering hushed nonsense under his breath, the other finally pulled back to raise his head and blink at him.

It was like he had woken from a trance, or at least had not fully grasped what had just happened. Snufkin smiled at him, and Joxt gave a barely smile back.

"Do you still wanna go inside or wait here?" Snufkin asked. He didn't see the point in acknowledging what had just happened, both for his own abashment about the situation and the fact that Joxt was not likely to give a clear answer anyway. The man nodded in response to the question he did ask, and they turned around to visit the bookstore together.

The shop was as dusty as Snufkin would expect it to be going by previous memory. It was calm inside, completely quiet except for the bell that run when they opened the door. The elderly man behind the till greeted them politely, but then went back to the ledgers he was busying himself with. Snufkin headed straight for the section he knew they needed to be at, not feeling like lingering any longer than necessary. Near the back section, there were several leather-bound books too heavy for any normal person to carry. Snufkin suspected they were kept around more as referential material than anything else since he could not see the use in anybody buying them.

They were a collection of different maps of the area. Some of them more vague, others with astounding details. And certainly at least one of them would have the information they'd need. He turned the pages slowly, Joxt looking over his shoulder curiously. Since he knew the place they were looking for could not be that far off, Snufkin also knew which maps to consult to find it. After just a matter of minutes, he had found what he was searching for.

"Here," he said, finger resting on a strange symbol vaguely resembling a sun. "I am almost certain this is where the flowers grow. We need only go west from here and follow the river to find it." He traced the course of that water all the way from the symbol up to where the village was on the map. "We can be there in less than a week's time."

Joxt stared at the map intently, face uncharacteristically contemplative. He pointed at the letters next to the sun symbol.

"Pioni," Snufkin read out loud. "I believe it's the name of the flowers, as well as the village. One named after the others, as you could guess. That's where we're going."

With their new destination now clear in mind, they left both the shop and the town behind posthaste. The sun was starting to set, and Snufkin had decided he wanted to be well away from here by the time they had to start making camp. They left by another street than the one they passed through on the way in, passing beneath a same stone arch on their way out. Their journey would take them a little more south still, and by that time it would be the middle of the winter.

Half the season was already gone by. Snufkin had not started to write his spring song yet, nor did he have any idea what he would do about the journey back to the valley. When starting out, he had assumed Joxt would leave as soon as his injuries were sufficiently recovered to do so. He had already lingered at his side longer than Snufkin could have anticipated. Now, they were committed to an undertaking that might last them a while still. But Snufkin did not know what would happen after.

Would Joxt leave soon, once they had visited the field together? Would he stay for the rest of the season still, and depart on his merry way when Snufkin would make way to return to the valley? In a strange sense, he supposed he wouldn't even mind if Joxt decided to return with him. But in that case, he probably had to come up with some way to explain him picking up some uncommon stranger in the woods.

He was sure Moomin would have a thing or two to say about such a thing.

Joxt stopped his pondering by pulling sharply on his sleeve. Snufkin knew they had not gone far enough from the town for him to be comfortable enough to sleep, so it must be something else bothering him. Not that the question needed much consideration, as soon as he saw a group of men stepping out of the copse in front of them.

They were dressed in dark clothes, a deliberate choice most likely. Snufkin could not help but think it foolish of him, to not account for the possibility of danger traveling in evening and night so near to human settlements could bring. Most likely they had spotted them as soon as they left town and followed them all this way just to rob them.

Travelers were usually easy pickings for ruffians such as these.

"Don't make this hard on us," one of the men said in a low, gravely voice. It was hard to understand him with the shawl tied around his face, but the hunting knife strapped to his belt did most of the talking for him. "Everything you have now."

Joxt had not let go of his sleeve yet, and as the man stepped forward Joxt's hand slid down to encircle his wrist. He pulled just enough to get Snufkin behind himself, and growled at the man.

It did give them pause for all but one second. Maybe it was not the kind of reaction they had expected – maybe they had not realized that they were not dealing with humans this time. But if they were intimidated they made a good effort not to show it. Merely taking another step towards them.

This would turn out to be a grave mistake on their part. As soon as the man had come close enough, Joxt let go of Snufkin's wrist in a blink's time and had sprung forward onto the man approaching them. The startled human couldn't do much more than raise a hand to defend himself – and Joxt bit down into it.

The noise the man made then was shrill and high-pitched, a far cry from the way he had presented himself earlier. But it was enough to snap his three remaining associates out of the terrified daze they had been in, and they sprang to the rescue of their leader. Snufkin very desperately wanted to help, but one of them must have seen him searching for his own pocketknife because they made a grab for it as soon as he pulled it out.

He grunted, and pushed with all his might against their force, first succeeding in knocking them back slightly. It had been a premature victory, however, as the next instant, the man kicked at his heels to get him to step back. The effort only resulted in him losing his footing and falling onto the ground harder than expected. Snufkin just had time to see the way Joxt was fending off two of the men at the same time, before his head hit something hard and solid and the pain made everything turn black.

Chapter Text

The taste of iron was strong against his tongue, filling his senses. He tore into them, chunks of flesh beneath his claws. He considered maybe this was some innate anger coming out against those who had not directly harmed him, a fire burning inside of him yearning for revenge on those that wronged him.

These humans had done no such thing. They had not been as bad as Them by a long stretch. But they had threatened him. Had made the boy pull back with alarm in his wide eyes for the things they could do. And the sight alone had been enough to make the blood run hot in his veins.

Had he encountered them mere weeks ago he would probably have been too weakened to fight them. But now he had no such qualms. His old wounds ached in a distant way, throbbing when his rapid movements aggravated them but not enough for him to hold back. He was fed and strong and angry – and hurting them felt good. They ran away before he could kill any of them, but he had made them all bleed.

The one who had approached first remained the longest, lifting their blade with trembling hands even as their men fled in horror. He watched them slash at the air widely, panicked and blinded by their own rage. He wrapped his hands around their throat and squeezed until they flailed with all their limbs, blade falling out of their loosened grip and coughing up air. Only when their lips turned blue did he let go, left them to lie prone and motionless.

He approached the boy, who was lying on his side in the grass. The fall had given him a wound on the back of his head that leaked red, and his eyes were closed. He picked him up easily, noticing how he weighed next to nothing compared to himself. The sky was growing dark, and the humans might be back so he set off into the twilight, ignoring the rapid beating of his runaway pulse.

He had not been scared for himself. Had not known fear since Their cages. But maybe he had been scared for the boy.

And that was such a silly thought.

Snufkin was aware of the pounding headache before anything else.

Long ago, what must have been several years in the past, he had run into a door. He couldn't recall exactly how it happened, maybe his embarrassment had led him to try and erase the memory from his mind. All he knew was that he had been in the Moominhouse and afterward, his friend had fussed over him with ice wrapped in cloth while a considerable bruise formed on his forehead.

The pain he felt right now was much worse than what he had experienced then.

It was a dull ache, but relentless in its effort to thump in tune to his heartbeat. Snufkin screwed his eyelids closed tighter for a moment before opening them slowly. There was a canopy of leaves above him, muddled colors of red, yellow and orange that sharpened gradually. He became aware of how warm it was, despite it clearly being late at night as evidenced by the thin slivers of sky he could see through the treetops. He tried to sit up, but this only made the pain worse.

He turned over onto his side instead, and watched the fire that Joxt had clearly kindled while he was unconscious. He did not see the man anywhere near, but assumed he was out searching for food. The tent was pitched on the other side of the fire pit, but for some reason, Joxt had laid him down outside, with one blanket to cover him and another to shield him from the hard ground. Snufkin pushed himself up onto his elbows, touching the back of his head gingerly.

The rough texture of the bandage Joxt had applied felt weird under his fingertips. A small part of it had become hard with dried blood, but the wound had clearly stopped bleeding a while ago. Apart from the pain, Snufkin didn't think he was too worse for wear.

Just as he sat up completely, Joxt came into the clearing. He was carrying several wild leeks and it wasn't until then that Snufkin noticed that he had hung a metal pot – probably stolen from other campers - above the fire, supported with several sturdy branches and twine to keep it suspended. Some kind of liquid was bubbling away inside, sending a cloud of steam into the frigid winter air. It smelled like the stew Moominmamma would make in the valley. Without cutting off the green tops, Joxt threw the leeks into the broth.

"It's going to be awfully bitter if you do it like that," Snufkin said, and Joxt's eyes shot up to meet his. Despite his usual cold outer demeanor, the man cracked a small smile, as if he was glad to see him up.

Tasty, Joxt told him. He had such weird preferences in food, it did not surprise Snufkin that he would choose to make stew this way.

"That's fine, I wasn't going to eat it anyway," he said as he scooted a little closer to the fire. "I'm not hungry."

Joxt threw him a small, concerned glance. Not better?

"Oh, I'm much better. Just don't feel like eating right now." The pain had not subsided any at all in the past few minutes and was accompanied by a slight nausea that made even the smell of the food – as delightful as it was supposed to be – seem unappetizing to him. Snufkin was sure it would clear up on its own over time, but for now he would leave Joxt to enjoy his bitter stew by himself. "What exactly happened?"

Joxt stirred what was inside the pot with a long stick he had clearly whittled down for this very purpose. Either he hadn't heard him or he was deliberately choosing not to answer, Snufkin didn't know. He looked around but did not recognize their current location, meaning Joxt had taken them far away from where they encountered those unsavory humans, and away from the town as well. Perhaps Snufkin did not need the explanation to connect the dots after all.

He grimaced at the thought, unpleasant as it was. Joxt used one of their wooden bowls to scoop up stew from the pot and drank it like that, without using a spoon. Snufkin noticed his hands were clean and heard the distant flow of water in the river, meaning it was safe to assume Joxt had washed himself after their trouble. He did not know why the thought sent an irksome shiver down his spine.

Swallowing away the unease, he watched Joxt eat in silence for a moment. Mixed emotions were clouding Snufkin's mind, and while worry took the forefront of those thoughts, he couldn't deny in part he was relieved at how things had ended up. He had been scared.

But one question was even more pressing than any of the others. Just before he blacked out, he had seen Joxt, had seen what he had been doing. Maybe he would not get a satisfying answer for this either, but Snufkin knew he had to ask. "Why did you protect me?"

Joxt stared at him, the flames reflecting brightly in his eyes. It reminded Snufkin of the city again - of the street performers. Finally, he set down the bowl to be able to gesture with his hands again.

Friends.

"Friends?" Snufkin echoed softly.

Joxt pointed at himself, then at Snufkin, and repeated the gesture he had learned not too long ago, at the bank of a river full of stones. We're friends.

"I guess we are." Snufkin nodded but the movement only worsened his terrible headache. At his obvious wince, Joxt came over and handed him some rough bark Snufkin discerned to be leftovers of the same willow he had given Joxt not long after their first meeting. If you chewed on it, it could alleviate pain. "Thanks."

Joxt returned for his second helping of stew while Snufkin chewed the bark. The taste was awful, bitter like medicine often was but with none of the sugar sweetener added to make it palpable for little kids. At least he didn't have to swallow it. He must have been making a foul face to accompany this sentiment, because Joxt raised an eyebrow at him, amused at his obvious disgust.

"We're close to the river still, right?" Snufkin asked to get his mind of both the pain and the lingering aftertaste in his mouth. He could probably get some water to wash that out from the flask. Joxt nodded, and then as if reading his mind tossed his flask over to him. Snufkin barely managed to catch it. "Good," he said. "We should be able to start following it downstream tomorrow, after we have rested for the night."

Joxt gave him that same worried glance he had earlier. Snufkin wondered at how quickly that had come over him since yesterday, how strangely it fitted on his face. He had never taken Joxt to be the kind of person to be worried over anything.

Healthy to travel? he inquired.

"I'll be fine," Snufkin said, replacing the top back on his flask. "In the morning I'll hardly feel it. And we can be on our way to see the flowers. We can be there in a few days, remember?"

It took a moment for Joxt to look pleased by that statement. Snufkin felt like he was assessing his condition with some skepticism, trying to decipher if he was truly feeling up for the task or just saying such a thing to be accommodating. But whatever must have shown on his expression was enough to convince Joxt, who then nodded again to show he would very much still like that idea.

"Then it's settled," Snufkin said. "We leave tomorrow."

He laid back down, content with the warmth of the fire and both blankets to sleep outside. Joxt did not seem to mind, but stood up from his current place to sit closer to Snufkin instead. He had already proven to be able to sleep in many uncomfortable positions those first few nights and it was hardly as cold now as it had been back then. Stretching out his legs in front of himself and leaning back against a tree, Joxt almost immediately drifted off to a deep slumber. Snufkin rolled over, watching him for a moment.

As strange at this whole entanglement of theirs had been so far, it did not appear to Snufkin as such a bad thing anymore. It had been a gradual change, maybe more of a sunrise than a lighting bolt in the way it had caught him off guard.

But in the end, that just meant Snufkin minded it just as little.

They had been following the river for almost half a week when Snufkin was surprised by what sounded like the rush of waves. Since a few miles ago they had left the denser parts of the forest behind them, with the river disappearing from view behind formations of rock, though its current was still very audible. The water was flowing a lot faster here and now Snufkin realized why that was as they laid eyes on the delta where the river met the sea. The ground here was getting sandier as it went along, and from their vantage point they could see the dunes with its patches of beachgrass that sloped down into the seashore. The tide was low, exposing the large stroke of land made darker by the water where it was used to lapping at the shore. In the far distance, if he strained his vision just hard enough, Snufkin could discern the vague outline of white sails against the horizon.

The two of them stood there on that hill, breathing in air that tasted salty against their lips, and stared out over an ocean so endless it became hard to see where the sky ended and the water began.

"Have you ever seen the sea before, Joxt?" Snufkin asked. "Do you recall?"

Joxt was too busy taking in the view to respond right away. His mouth was drawn into a small line, not betraying his underlying impression of what Snufkin considered to be one of the most wonderful sights the world had to offer. He tilted his head upward, as if to smell the lingering brine in the air. Then he turned towards Snufkin with a grin and for the first time since their meeting, it looked like it actually reached his eyes, lighting up Joxt's entire face in a way nothing else had done so far.

"I'll race you down!" Snufkin took off even before the words had left him, sure that Joxt could outrun him if he tried but getting a head start at least. He didn't get very far before his shoes started sinking deeper into the sand, making it hard to keep going at a steady pace. Joxt experienced less trouble with his bare feet and quickly overtook him on the arenaceous dunes. Snufkin had to trudge through for a while longer before he made it to the more solid part of shore exposed when the sea pulled back. Here, the sand was heavily saturated by water and as such a lot easier to walk on. By the time he reached Joxt, the man was already standing almost ankle-deep in the water, having hitched his pants up to his knees to keep dry. Waves moved sluggishly around his legs, pulling back and then returning to submerge his feet again.

"So have you?" Joxt looked up at his words, finally paying him mind again. "Seen the sea before, I mean."

No memory, Joxt answered. But very beautiful.

Snufkin internally debated if he should take off his own shoes for a dip as well, but decided the hassle of unlacing and relacing them later wasn't worth it. He walked along the shoreline, vision cast on the ground to keep an eye out for the natural trinkets a beach could provide. Moomin did so adore it when he brought back gifts that would not easily be found anywhere in the valley.

There were various small scallops and limpets he ignored, but Snufkin also discovered a shiny piece of sea glass in the most vibrant green color. It was about the size of a coin and shaped similarly, holding it up to the light revealed a kaleidoscope of color on the sand. He was sure Moomin would love it. Not much further on there was a spiral conch shell, half-buried but easily dug out with his hands alone. It seemed in a much better state than most of the ones he'd usually find, no edges cut off by heavy currents, and after checking no creature had made the shell its home, he carried it back to where Joxt was still standing in the water and sat down in the sand nearby.

As Snufkin watched, Joxt suddenly made a noise much like an annoyed house cat when you step on its tail and leaped about three feet into the air in his startled state. When he lifted his leg the thing that had spooked Joxt revealed itself to be merely a stubborn tangle of seaweed that had attached itself to his foot. Snufkin could not help himself and laughed out loud at how comical it was to witness – which in turn only earned him a stern glare from Joxt, who brushed off the seaweed and stalked over to him grumpily.

"Do you wanna learn a trick?" Snufkin asked, in part to cheer the other up. Joxt regarded him wearily, but as usual was quick to leave his annoyance behind when his curiosity was piqued by something new. Snufkin held the spiral conch up to his own ear first, hearing the familiar rush of the ocean waves reflect in deep humming from within the shell. He did the same for Joxt, holding the conch just an inch away from his ears so he could hear the sounds for himself.

Joxt's brow was furrowed at first, as if he did not understand what Snufkin was attempting to do. But one could see the exact moment it clicked and he could recognize the familiar sound of the ocean reverberating. Snufkin pulled back a moment later.

Bring to valley? Joxt asked, indicating the shell still in Snufkin's hands. For your friends?

He realized Joxt wanted to know if he was meaning to bring the shell back with him for spring, like he had explained he did with the dried flowers in his book. He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "How about you keep it instead?"

The confusion on Joxt's face was an enjoyment all of its own. Why?

"Because you're my friend too."

And when he held the shell out again, Joxt did not hesitate to take it, holding it up to his ear and closing his eyes, as though he could commit it better to memory simply by force of will. Snufkin surveyed the faraway stretches of the ocean in content silence and the ships disappearing off the edge of the world.

Almost like it was the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to bere here.

Chapter Text

The sun did not burn him anymore.

Where its rays had felt so overwhelming before – as if its glare could blind him – now it felt as merely another ingrained part of him. Fresh air, the grass or sand beneath his bare feet, and the sun that shone with renewed vigor on a world laid open.

He was still not the sentimental kind, but he would give in to small comforts, small joys. The way the wind brushed through his hair and left traces of brine on his face. As they continued traveling he knew he would use the shell often. They had to return further inland, the boy had pointed out the directions to him on the map but he had not cared how they got there as long as they did get there in the end. However, they should have turned from the river earlier than they did if they wanted to reach the flowers.

Their detour had led them to the ocean though. Neither of them probably minded much.

Uncertainty still plagued him concerning what he was looking for or hoping to find on their arrival. He would not worry about the outcome. One could not be disappointed without set expectations.

But that didn't mean apprehension was an easy emotion to ignore.

Had he not been beyond a doubt convinced of it being winter, the look of the town might have fooled Snufkin into thinking it was already turning spring.

Gazing upon the myriad of colors painting the landscape in the form of various flowers was a wonder in itself, though despite the lovely picture it made the settlement was on the smaller side. White cabins with patched-roof stood far apart, with their own gardens accommodating even more flowers. Snufkin remembered the town was mostly trade based, selling the flowers and herbs grown here to both human and creature alike.

Ages ago, the ground had turned out to be extremely suitable for plants to grow swiftly and with ample turnout. The weather was mild and agreeable, allowing plants to blossom even out of season. Farmers had once lived here to exploit this benefit, but over time as people moved in or out of the surrounding lands and the culture shifted, the purpose changed with it. Where once vegetables and grains were grown, the town now had taken on a specialty at cultivating anything that could be considered rare or fetching. Its warmer climate allowed for diverse vegetation that would not thrive anywhere else in the world, while the town's proximity to both the ocean and mountain streams supplied an ideal water source.

Nature had come together here in a wondrous way, and that happened to be the exact reason Snufkin had actually bothered to remember the place.

"No more people, right Joxt?" he asked swiftly as they walked along a path through the surrounding flower fields to see the shape of the village dawn before them. No doubt it was a lot smaller than the market town had been, not to mention a lot more accustomed to non-humans. But their previous encounter with others had soured the mood for interaction. It might have ended well that time, they did not need a repeat of such dramatic circumstances.

Joxt nodded in eager response. His weariness at their proximity to humans had eased slightly – and with such a display at still possessing the strength to ward of danger he felt more unworried still – but Snufkin suspected he still harbored bitter suspicions.

In his heart, he knew this might never fade.

But they did not need to cross into the village to find what they were looking for. As beautiful as the flowers growing around them already were, it was just one patch in particular Snufkin had his eyes out for. They did not even have to approach any of the houses, walking around the far side in a semi-circle. On one gate they encountered a large arch made entirely of woven flowers, the array making a rainbow across the wood.

Joxt stared at it in wonder and Snufkin couldn't help but smile. They had come such a long way, he was now more than certain it had to be worth it in the end.

A slanted meadow full of sunflowers beckoned them closer, long stems bending in the breeze. It was unusually windy today. The petals of bright yellow left no doubt as to where they had gotten their name from. Some grew taller than the two of them, which left Snufkin wondering at their age. Unlike the orchard, these fields were not bordered by fences or the like, left free for people to wander in by way of small paths trampled down by all who came before them. Snufkin recalled the sunflowers, so he knew they were getting closer.

Completely enamored with the sight, Joxt hesitated about once every twenty paces. Snufkin did not find himself minding much. Never being one to hurry anyway – though a little more so than Joxt – the notion that their journey was near to coming to a close filled him with a twinge of gloom about what would happen next. Winter was now squarely on its midway point. Shortly the worst of the weather would be over with in the valley and Snufkin would feel compelled to return to his friends again. He had not yet asked Joxt about his plans but assumed that soon they would part ways and when that happened they might never see each other again.

Unable to encapsulate why this filled him with such odd dejection, he resolved to put it out of mind. Surely he would be better served to concentrate on the present.

They made their way out of a heavy growth of hydrangea to finally gaze upon their destination. Snufkin heard Joxt intake a sharp breath, stunned by what they had found. He had to admit it was incredible in a manner even seeing the ocean had barely managed to be. What stretched before them might be mistaken for a kind of sea of its own, only one made of peonies. The bushes they grew on were large and voluptuous, creating a carpet of green on which the buds perched. All different hues were represented, from pure white to a dark burgundy almost mistaken for black. A gradient ran between the two as the blush would on a maiden's face in love, all different reds claiming their place in the array.

Their scent hung heavy in the air, sweet as sugar with an underlying citrus that carried easily on the wind. Even if nothing else came out of all this, this glimpse had been worthwhile all the trouble it took them to come here.

Joxt rocked back on his heels, like a child barely able to contain his own excitement. Snufkin had never known his eyes to be this bright, filled with sunlight. He wanted to ask if maybe the flowers had sparked a memory after all, but Joxt did not give him the chance. He was already walking into the wall of flowers, fingertips tracing the petals in wonder. Snufkin followed him with slow strides, content with enjoying the peace for himself.

The further they trudged into the field, the harder it became to carry on. It was almost like the flowers had grown in an overabundance, the earth gifting them with strength immeasurable. When it became too hard to walk on much further, Joxt plopped onto the ground, laying down with his legs and arms outstretched and his eyes closed. To Snufkin he looked like the starfish Moomin had found on the beach once.

He sat down himself next to the other. Long blades of grass and twigs covered the earth with little human intervention to clear them out. It wasn't the most comfortable place to take a rest, but the high bushes intertwined to form a canopy above them, shielding them from the glare of the sun and giving the scene a sort of privacy that was cozy in its own right. So Snufkin would gladly tolerate the less than ideal seating arrangement. Joxt's breathing had evened out mere seconds after laying down so Snufkin assumed he was taking a nap. They had been walking for several hours before getting here.

After drinking from his flask and checking up on his dried flowers, he went in search of a new blossom to add to his book. His friends would certainly be surprised to hear he had returned to the same place he had visited once before, but the peony was one of Moomin's favorites in his collection so it felt right to bring back another one. Maybe a lighter color would fit in nicely? As he searched for one which he felt was perfect – pretty enough to express how marvelous this place was, but not so young it would be akin to snatching nature in its prime – another idea prompted in Snufkin's mind.

There were more than enough suitable flowers in their immediate vicinity to bring his plan to fruition. Plucking two handfuls of them, Snufkin started breading the stems together, aided by the thickest blades of grass he could find. In the end his creation might fall apart sooner than he'd like, he never had the adeptness at this that his friends in the valley did. But despite that, he was quite pleased with the ultimate result: a small crown of peonies of various colors.

By the moment he was done with the time-consuming task, Joxt was already cracking his eyes open and pushing himself up on his elbows, yawning languidly. His naps were always short-lived. Snufkin put the flower crown on his head without much preamble, happy when the other did not flinch away from him anymore in the slightest.

"These flowers," he explained, "have complex medical uses, which is why most humans find them so valuable. I've heard they cure just about everything, from infections to pain to sickness. They carry symbolic meaning too but I wouldn't know too much about that."

Pretty, was all Joxt had to add to that, a faint smile on his face.

"That as well." He laughed. Then a thought struck him. "Oh, there is this strange superstition as well. It is said that wishing on a peony for good health can bring a faster recovery for your loved ones. Should we try?"

With a quizzical look, Joxt titled his head to the side. Wish how?

"I'll show you." Standing up, Snufkin plucked another blossom from the bush, the color a pale pink. He closed his palms around it, using the tips of his fingers to loosen the petals from the sepal. Closing his eyes for a moment to make sure the right intention filled his heart – a vital part of the wishing process – he blew the petals into the wind, watching some fall down onto the ground and Joxt's head, but even more were carried away into the air current and out of sight.

They floated gently away, playing in the breeze.

Who did you wish for? Joxt signed.

Snufkin sat back down with a sigh. "You, of course. I hope you get better soon, Joxt. And you won't have to suffer as much anymore."

Joxt ducked his head dismissively. Already better.

"If you say so." And he got a strange look from Joxt in return. Shaking his head, Snufkin rubbed the last few petals still sticking to his fingers off his hands. "Does that mean you're leaving soon?"

While he was doing this Joxt had crossed his legs, straightening his back and putting his hat which had fallen off during the nap into his lap. Leaving where? he asked, the thought apparently not even having been on his mind.

"I don't know," Snufkin said. "I guess you have nowhere to go, then?" Joxt still had not recovered any of his memories, so it made perfect sense that he wouldn't have a home to return to, or a family waiting for him. By all outward appearances he didn't seem too bothered by this, but Snufkin couldn't help being a bit curious.

You? Joxt asked next.

"Oh, I will be returning to the valley. I always do." He had promised, and you can't break something so sacred without dire repercussions. Not that Snufkin had any intention to. "There's uh... somebody important there waiting on me."

With a sly smile, Joxt grinned his amusement at the confession but Snufkin ignored him. They had talked about Moomin before.

"I guess you could come with me?" he continued, doing his best to sound nonchalant. "If you want to? I'm sure everybody there would be fascinated to meet you. And it's pretty. Lots of food and lots of naps." Those last two especially were prone to sway Joxt.

Joxt scratched his nose, giving the proposal some thought. After a moment he nodded. Would make me happy, he decided.

If Snufkin felt a burst of delight at the commitment he did his best not to show it.

Then Joxt motioned for Snufkin to take out his mouth organ. As they travelled he had played a couple of times – the first time after the night he had to calm Joxt down from a nightmare by humming. They shared a love for music.

Taking out the instrument, Snufkin took a few deep breaths in anticipation to play. He wasn't sure which song to pick. He had been working on a spring melody, but it felt too early in the process to share that. Whenever he had a hard time choosing what to play his natural instinct seemed to be to default to 'All Small Beasts Have Bows In Their Tails', a tune he had repeated so often Snufkin could probably still play it should he go deaf. What's more, Joxt seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.

The field was wrapped in serene calm as he started playing, even the scurrying of the insects and the chirping of the birds quieting down as if to show respect for his performance. It was a silly fancy on his part to think like that, but sometimes Snufkin liked to indulge in the foolery of such thoughts.

He startled slightly when he felt something wrap around his tail in the middle of the song, missing a few notes that came out screeching. He stopped playing to turn around, and saw that Joxt had taken the piece of cloth that tied his hair back and had instead fastened it into a bow around Snufkin's tail. Under any different circumstances this would not have been the most surprising thing if it weren't for the fact that he hadn't been aware Joxt was familiar with the words.

When he played his mouth organ, Snufkin couldn't sing along. And he hadn't ever mentioned the name of the song.

"You know it?" Snufkin asked, voice flabbergasted and Joxt stared back with dark eyes full of mystery and a frown. He looked as confused about the revelation as Snufkin felt, but also pulled by something stronger still. As Joxt got up, Snufkin had to quickly collect his belongings to be able to follow him.

They hurried back in the direction they had came from and Joxt froze in front of the flower arch they had passed on their way there. His eyes traced the outline, the frown in his forehead only getting more pronounced. When he turned around his expression had completely transformed from ease into distress, and the suddenness of the change only left Snufkin more concerned, with no clue as to what was going on.

Joxt was following some impossible trail, a collection of imprints only he could see. Snufkin got the distinct impression he was unearthing a reminiscence. Perhaps the very reason his friend had been so strangely drawn to coming here in the first place.

The path winded through the fields in a bent they had not yet taken. They left the village behind them as well as most of the flower fields, darting through a grove of trees. To Snufkin's bewilderment they returned to the river they had been following in the first place, though at a different junction where they had not been before.

Here, Joxt kneeled down into the soil. His claws dug into the earth and stones, searching for some invisible object. Snufkin couldn't do more than stand by and watch, chest full of trepidation and uncertainty. There was something about this spot, something in the way the trees bent to create a small awning. Or the way the river flowed faster in constant ripples. Unable to tell what it was, he concentrated on Joxt instead.

Whatever he had been seeking was not here, hands still empty and now stained with wet dirt. He was staring at the water, eyes vacant – empty as they were when the two of them first met. Snufkin walked around to face him, though Joxt was looking right through him. But his heart didn't fall clear through his chest until he saw the tears streaming down Joxt's face.

Snufkin had no idea what the other had found here – or hadn't found – but clearly it had upset Joxt in a way nothing else had.

Not knowing what else to do, Snufkin put his hands on Joxt's shoulder since that had worked in earlier instances. Joxt didn't move at all – didn't even make a sound. His body was completely still in the most unnatural way.

"Joxt, it's fine. You're going to be okay," Snufkin said. He was at a loss as to what exactly he was assuring but knew sweet rambles would be better than nothing. "I'm right here."

He did not even have time to blink before Joxt's arms were thrown around him. He was pressed into the other's chest, the smell of campfires and flowers lingered on his clothes. Joxt had a natural warmth to him, though the uneven texture of his shirt was rough against Snufkin's cheek. Joxt's fingers locked together perfectly on his back.

And maybe it was because Snufkin couldn't remember the last time he had been hugged like this that it constricted as a lump into his throat. The image was not vivid or even real, a vague description of a secondhand experience. But he had been tiny and small and he had fitted into somebody's arms just like this. Like he belonged there and felt safe with them. Loved unconditionally and lost without recuperation.

"I'm right here-" he repeated, barely able to get the words out.

The significance of those words might be lost on the both of them, spoken in a nook of faded memories. But Snufkin knew together they could give them new meaning.

Chapter Text

What he encountered in his heart then hurt more than the torture ever did.

Many new sensations kept flooding him ever since running wild and unabandoned. Waves hitting him with the force of a thousand falling stars, beauty rectified. And as much as he feared or hoped or ran scared, none of it ever filtered through. Nothing ever hit him with such clarity. In his cage there were no hopes, often he was too exhausted or in pain to do anything but slip into blissful darkness when he slept.

But this felt like it. Like everything was soft and unreal and laying just beyond his fingertips. If he closed his eyes and tilted just right, he would still not be able to hold it truly.

The river did not feel like that. The river swallowed him, carried him off and filled his lungs with water. The earth spoke to him in a language he did not understand but carried with it the burden of understanding his sadness. What happened – when it happened – how it happened, all of it was ill-defined for him still. All he could tell was that the root of all his tragedy lay somewhere among these trees, buried in the rubble of time passed.

A basket had stood here. In it, big eyes had stared up at him with faint blinks, bright brown and filled with flecks of sun. Tiny hands had reached for his and wrapped around his finger, this hold the tense constricting of worry in his heart.

A human had stood here too, their arms rigid and frame edged with desire for foulness.

The basket had left and the man hadn't and he did not know why that filled him with such indescribable pain. The flowers had been important after all. But they had delivered only more perplexity to his already fraying mind.

And none of the answers he was searching for with ever-increasing fervor.

They stayed in the area for several days and never went near the river again.

Maybe a small fraction of Snufkin wanted to pretend it didn't exist. Why it upset Joxt so much still alluded him and it held no significant meaning for himself that he could place. But melancholy hung heavy in the air around the lapping water and in the end they let it be, casting their mind to less trying topics.

The climate in these meadows stayed pleasantly warm, even though it was turning well into the pits of winter. Food was plentiful in the surrounding forests and with their goal of reaching the flowers fulfilled, neither felt any pressing urges to leave again.

Snufkin did not dwell on how much he rejoiced at knowing Joxt would return to the valley with him, but knew preparations would have to be made for when he did. Not only would he have a long tale to tell, explaining how he had picked this stranger up, he also had to touch on the interesting occurrences that started happening ever since. He was not superstitious enough to believe Joxt would attract bad luck, yet it did seem like he had a penchant for getting into troubling situations.

Which was all the more reason for them to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasted. They walked around the flower fields, appreciated the stunning nature surrounding them. Joxt napped a lot, even though he was now fully healed from his injuries. His appetite also never decreased, leading Snufkin to suspect it was just who he was. For his own part, Snufkin finally started working on his spring song, between the same peonies where he had first learned Joxt knew about 'all small beasts have bows in their tails'.

Joxt was glad to give his input through approving nods or clouded frowns whenever he played something the man did not enjoy in the slightest. It troubled Snufkin that despite his recovery in all other regards both physical and mental – Joxt had not another nightmare in weeks by now – his voice was still adamant in its refusal to return.

There had to be a clue there, peeled beneath layer after layer of mystery that Snufkin was only just starting to phantom. Though even more so he was beginning to find acceptance in not learning and never finding out. Unlike most he considered the unknown to have a certain charm and maybe even comfort. Ignorance was bliss and so long as Joxt seemed happy and not in pain anymore, who was he to pry into business not his own.

"You approve of the entire thing then?" he asked as they were sitting on the ground again. Not the peonies this time, a simple change of scenery. A field of lavender stretched out in all directions, its recognizable calming scent inescapable. Several bees hovered around them, dedicated to their duty of carrying pollen from stem to stem.

Joxt traced them with his eyes as he responded. Cheerful, he told Snufkin. He had to admit his song had a jolly tilt to it this year, high notes and fast-paced transitions. As usual, he was inspired by the coming of spring and the reunion he would have with his friends, however his adventures with Joxt might have influenced him some as well.

It felt like the world around him was changing too and for Snufkin, this would always reflect in his music.

"I do say it is a lot easier on the ears when there's a joy to it," he said jokingly, getting an easy smile from Joxt in return. Those had also become only more frequent over time. "And easier to dance to as well. Do you dance, Joxt?"

Joxt shook his head, which surprised Snufkin only in that it indicated he had an answer at all. Showing a profound knowledge of terms and subjects that Snufkin had assumed eluded the other man, with every passing day it became clearer to him Joxt must have had a lot more experience with the outside world than anticipated. Pinching his two first fingers together and holding his hand upright, Joxt moved them in a circular motion. It took Snufkin a moment to ransack his brain for the meaning, but when he got it he laughed.

"Only with a special someone, you say? Well, I suppose if you have a person you'd consider as such, that would do quite nicely. Do you remember?" It was mostly meant as an offhand remark but once again Snufkin got a reply he did not expect.

No. Do you have someone?

A flustered feeling befell him and he could feel his entire face becoming red suddenly. It was Joxt's turn to laugh at him, the deep rumble still oddly reminiscent to Snufkin though he hardly noticed it this time since he was too busy trying to make himself invisible on immediate notice. Fairly certain he was blushing to the very tips of his ears he pulled his hat further down on his hair again, a nervous habit that had always saved him well in the past. At the very least it hid his face from view.

"Why in the heavens would you think that?" he asked with as much indignation as he could muster, though he had an inkling that should already be obvious. If Joxt was about to say what he thought Joxt was about to say, Snufkin might just have to die from shame on the spot.

But Joxt merely raised an amused eyebrow at him, as if considering whether embarrassing him further was worth it. Snufkin desperately hoped for it not to be and thankfully fate was in his favor and Joxt shrugged slightly, shaking his long hair loose from his shoulders.

When to the valley? he inquired.

Snufkin knew the sudden shift in conversation steering to their return to the valley was also not coincidental, but he was not above ignoring the implication. He'd return to his misgivings about what might happen should Joxt and Moomin meet soon at another occasion, preferably about three seconds before it was about to occur. Joxt learned a lot more about him in such a short acquaintance than most did in much longer, those two would have quite an interesting conversation. He already dreaded the very thought of their amusement at his expense, though maybe part of him was looking forward to it as well.

"We can go whenever you like," he answered. Midwinter had come and gone while they stayed here, so while they might still encounter some traces of frost on their way back Snufkin was confident that the worst of the season would be over with. Leaving earlier only meant they would arrive in the valley earlier, and he didn't think any of his friends would complain about that.

Joxt thought about it for a moment. There was unparalleled deepness in his eyes, some abyss of trepidation mirrored in the downward pull of his brows. Snufkin did not capture it – the expression did not remain long enough for him to grasp. Soon, Joxt gestured then. First river, then leave.

Snufkin swallowed away the sudden surge of unease capturing his heart again at the prospect of going back. If it held importance for Joxt, it could hold importance for him. At least that is what he convinced himself of.

"If you'd like."

The water did not flow as fast as it did before.

Wherever the source was - much higher up in the mountains probably - must be experiencing a drought due to the freezing temperatures. When they had first seen it, it had seemed a torrent to Snufkin, carrying off debris and memory in equal measure. He did not know why he disliked the water, he just knew he did.

But now it was just a gentle brook making soft noises at them from down below, sweeping away the odd leave or branch but not any harm to them. Joxt did the same thing he had done when they were here previously, digging in the pebbles and earth in hunt for something intangible and precious.

The longer Snufkin watched this, the more it dawned on him that what Joxt was searching for might not have a physical form at all. He had gleaned the riverbed to be the source of some anguish for his friend – possibly even to do with his lost aeons spent in captivity. The vehemence in which Joxt searched for it might just be the only way he knew how to.

This might not be a quest that could ever be brought to a successful end.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, putting his hand on Joxt's shoulder. The man did not bristle under his touch but tensed in a manner he had not done for ages now. As if Snufkin's very presence could tear into him. The river brought out something vulnerable and guarded in him. "I might be able to help you."

Don't know, Joxt signed dejectedly, as if ashamed for even having to admit as much. Important.

And how he stressed that final word was entirely new for the both of them.

Joxt, who had never put much effort into anything except fill his belly and find the most snug places to curl up at to fall asleep was currently staring at him with the loss of what could only be ascribed to be more cherished to him than life itself.

The strangest part had to be how Snufkin didn't even understand how he could name this. He rubbed his brow, suddenly aware of the pounding aching of his head. One who does not dwell on the past does not worry about forgetting things. Why start now?

"If you don't know yourself then I don't know how you can expect me to help you find it," he said plainly, barely recognizing the sharpness in his own tone of voice. Perhaps the river had pulled something out of him as well.

He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth though. Joxt did not make any movement to indicate how the statement had struck him, but Snufkin could feel it. They had become attuned to each other in such bizarre fashion during their travel, always in close propinquity. He thought he had come to know Joxt quite well, but not accounted for still being wrong in some aspects.

So he had misjudged desperation for disregard. Even if Snufkin could never share the urgency this held within Joxt's mind, he could recognize the sorrow that would come from having to let it go.

"I'm sorry." Dropping his hand from Joxt's shoulder, he sat down next to him instead, so they were on the same eye level. "I did not mean to dismiss this. But it might be better if-"

Joxt turned around mid-sentence, facing him. The brightness of his irises had none of the fire in them Snufkin knew so well. Curling his hand around Snufkin's wrist to interrupt him, he held on even after receiving a small nod from Snufkin encouraging him to say what he wanted to say.

Did you lose important?

The meaning of the question was harder to impart with Joxt's limited way of communicating, but Snufkin knew exactly what he wanted to know. He swallowed the instant denial stuck in his chest, the instinct to lie for emotional self-preservation.

As woeful as it was, there were certain secrets he had not divulged even to Moomin or anybody else really. There were whispers he kept contained to the dead of night, carving away at the thought that letting them out might be too cruel on himself. He could not go back and change the flow of the past so it did nothing to burn your hands on flames long since smothered.

"I don't... know," he lied. It did not escape him as the pale echo of what Joxt had said mere minutes before.

Joxt was still holding onto his wrist, his fingertips resting above his pulse and Snufkin knew he could tell he wasn't being truthful just by how it had quickened.

He remembered the girl in the orphanage. She was human, but was abandoned for being considered fae by her parents when she did not grow up talking and playing as the other kids of her village did. Such was the cruelty of humans. In the yard of that house, wooden and dark and falling apart in the elements, she had taught Snufkin her words as best she could. If you lied, she could always tell and she pulled her small nose up as if she was smelling something sour and stuck out her tongue.

Her eyes were green like the leaves of summer trees.

She had been so convinced her parents would come and find her again. Would realize their mistake in giving her away and come back for the daughter they had so heartlessly cast off for being unalike. Her stories were filled with warmth and sunlight, about the bed she used to sleep in, the dinners her mother had used to make for her, and a collection of dolls with bright red dresses waiting for her at home.

Snufkin did not think back then that he even had parents.

He must have been small enough to fit into the arms of an adult when he was found, small enough to disappear into the folds of his blanket. They must not have kept him long at all. Floated off in a basket on the wild waters, found on the side of a waterway. These were only stories he was told, he had no recollection.

"I don't know," he repeated with more conviction and Joxt blinked at him curiously. "You can't lose something you did not hold in the first place. But I did search for that which could not be found for a long while. Or maybe that which I was searching for simply did not want to be found by me."

Always it had crept back in, that maybe he was not lost. Maybe he was just as the girl, deserted for a measure he was too young to comprehend. Such wise words, they could probably go in one of Moominpappa's novels.

By the way Joxt tilted his head he could tell maybe they had been too vague for him to get also. Snufkin himself wasn't even sure what he was saying anymore. He had left the orphanage when he was still young, climbed through an open window with not much more than a handful of mementos and food for a few day's journey. He had explored the world and sought his parents and when he could not find them he had continued to travel for the sake of it, for the sake of himself.

Then he had found another place to call home.

But presuming that this would be the solution for Joxt had been his flaw. Thinking he could so callously dismiss Joxt's misfortune and tell him to let go of something so vital to his very being was wrong. In truth, Snufkin wanted not for Joxt to do what he did. Give up and forget anything had pained him at all.

Joxt had to keep searching. And Snufkin would be at his side to do so.

"I will help you in any way I can," he promised. "We'll do it together, alright? We'll return to the valley and then we'll figure it out. My friends can aid as well. Your memories will return someday and then we can go searching again. I won't leave until you chase me away."

Joxt nodded. He pulled at Snufkin's wrist and pressed his palm against his chest through the thin fabric. Snufkin felt the rapid heartbeat running beneath Joxt's skin, the shallow vibration of every inhale. It was an instrument all his own, bleeding restlessness. When Joxt let go of him, Snufkin did not move his hand away.

Scared, Joxt said. Scared I don't find.

"I know. But I'm here now."

Snufkin did not have the strength at that moment to confess that just as with so many other things about Joxt, his very heartbeat felt familiar to him too. As if maybe he had been searching for it just as long.

Chapter Text

Where at first the boy's tales of the valley had sounded too elusive for him to catch, he was feeling the emergence of curiosity in his own heart take place. He hadn't cared for distant lands, and meadows green with flowers and dew. He hadn't bothered to listen as closely, feverishly searching for his own longing in that unknown truth.

But he hadn't found what he had been searching for in the end, instead stumbling on something meaningless taken shape. There was importance in other things, if he made the effort to find that importance for himself. Or perhaps just create it from scratch.

While he knew the blood in his veins would not be stilled until his ache for that loss was settled, the boy has shown him there was security in the future. Escaping had been the start for him, not merely a means to an end.

In days of chilly weather and warming sun, he listened to the boy's stories and recounted there was more in the world than that which was vanished. The imaginary plains of the valley became more real to him, their colors burn vibrant behind his eyelids. And while it might not be the flowers or the river, it would become a home to him in time he knew.

If the boy was there, anything could become a home still.

They left the flowers behind them on a misty morning when winter was just past its peak.

Cold had not reached this place in the way it had others, but the weather had still become steadily more bitter during their stay. The people spoke of a dismal harvest and the curse of the mountain, while elders assured them that this was something prone to happen from time to time. When the conditions were just right the wind blew in over the ocean and carried with it frost that blended with the air. Flowers had started to shed their petals or closed up to hide from winter's wrath and the animals had taken to napping in their holes all day long.

Fires were lit in every house, the plumes of smoke from the chimneys darkening the sky and giving it a gritty texture. Joxt turned around to stare at them as they left, a vague smile of contentment on his face. Snufkin knew he had liked it there, but had hope that he would like the valley even more still. The weather would only get better from here on out and the journey home should be an easy one.

For once, Snufkin was surely eager to return even more than he usually was. His spring song had been finished – courtesy of Joxt's help – and after all the peril they had encountered during their travel he looked forward to settling down in one spot and doing absolutely nothing frightful or unchancy for a while. Not that this would be likely, taking into account Moomin and his other friends and all the escapades they would get up to, but a mumrik could dream.

"We could either use the same paths on our way back or go a different road. What do you think?" he asked Joxt as they started walking. If there was one thing Snufkin would always find without a map, it was Moominvalley.

He wasn't sure Joxt would even have an opinion on the matter, he always seemed so offhand about their plans. This time, however, he knitted his brow and gave the prospect serious consideration. Fastest way, he decided.

Snufkin agreed.

Without their detour to the sea, it wouldn't take long at all to get back to the valley. At the pace they were currently going, they could be there by the very first day of spring even and surprise his friends just as they would awaken from hibernation. Snufkin could already imagine Moomin's face, he had never been that early before.

As they ventured deeper within the forest and further north the temperature dropped at an unexpected rate. Snufkin saw Joxt draw his scarf closer to his face, his breaths leaving his mouth in a small cloud of vapor. Breathing on his own hands, Snufkin's exhales had taken on a similar quality. With some effort, Snufkin could keep from shivering.

"Do you think it rained here recently?" he asked, the only reason he could think of why it would be so much colder here. Joxt nodded and then pointed ahead.

All the leaves had long since fallen and through the curtain of stark branches that intertwined in patterns beyond comprehension, Snufkin could see a covering of white. They moved forward, at first enthralled at this strange phenomenon. It was as if somebody had come by with a tin of white paint and had done their best to cover the trees in their idea of art. But upon closer inspection, Snufkin realized it was instead something most akin to snow.

"Rime ice..." he muttered. He had only seen it once or twice before, which is why the sight had seemed so unusual to him.

Joxt looked at the branches curiously and when he stood on the tips of his toes he was just able to reach out and touch one of the tree limbs sticking out near his head. His poke shook loose the frozen water and send it cascading down in light, powdery trinkets. Due to Joxt's body heat, it melted into wet drops immediately and he shook his head vigorously to get rid of them. Snow? he asked.

"Almost," Snufkin answered. "Rime ice is when it rains during winter while it's not cold enough for real frost and the water sticks to the branches. It only happens where it's too frigid for the water not to freeze but too warm for proper snowfall. However, there should be some around here."

Snufkin started glancing around their immediate area while Joxt repeated his experiment. This time he took hold of a branch properly and pulled it downward hard, which only managed to cause a bigger avalanche. His hair-ends had become soaked already.

Spying the small inlet of a rabbit hole, Snufkin carefully put his hand inside and scooped up the snow he had correctly deduced might be inside. When they clogged up their warrens for their winter sleep, it formed a convenient cavity for water to collect in while it rained. And if it was cold enough for rime ice, sometimes that meant the small pools would become snow before they could be reabsorbed by the earth. Without any snow needing to fall from the sky.

He balled up the snow in both hands, pressing it together to form a compact ball. Then he turned around and looked at Joxt, who was still distracted by the branches. Holding his breath to make sure he wouldn't miss, Snufkin aimed it at his face.

The shot was one to be proud of since it hit Joxt right in the jaw. He startled like a cat would, jumping about a foot in the air and then crouching down low to the ground. Snufkin laughed loudly. "Did you just hiss at me?"

Much less entertained by his joke, Joxt glowered at him. The snow clung to his forehead, giving the threatening stance more of a comical edge to it. His normally pale complexion had reddened around the nose and cheeks because of the cold.

Joxt was more perceptive than Snufkin gave him credit for though because in the next moment he was scooping snow from a nearby trench in the earth himself – one Snufkin had not even noticed earlier. He only jumped out of the way just in time to avoid getting his joke paid back in kind. Not satisfied with Snufkin bypassing his retaliation so nimbly, Joxt advanced on him. Snufkin held up his hands. "Truce?"

Either Joxt did not know the meaning of the word or he had decided peace was never an option. He tackled Snufkin with little effort and the air left his lungs in a little gasp as the full weight of Joxt dashed into him. Snufkin fell onto his back, though he hardly felt it when Joxt instantly followed it up by shoving a whole handful of snow into his face.

Had he not been wide awake already, that would have definitely done the trick. Snufkin sputtered for a moment and rubbed at his stinging eyes, but Joxt was helpful enough to get off him and pull him into a seated position, content to have had his revenge.

"You're terrible," he managed to bemoan through the snow stuck in his mouth. It tasted absolutely offensive, Snufkin was pretty sure he had gotten at least one rotting autumn leaf in his mouth.

You started it, Joxter said. Snufkin couldn't deny that was true. I just finished it.

"How gracious of you." Blowing on his fingers again, since they felt stiff from the cold, Snufkin smiled. "Next time we find some proper snow and try an actual snowball fight instead of an improvised farce."

Joxt's scarf landed on his hands and with quick motions, Joxt wrapped the fabric around Snufkin's fingers. Then he brushed the snow from Snufkin's hair, his skin pleasantly warm despite what they had just been doing.

The act had a certain fondness to it which made Snufkin's heart clench as if caught in some invisible vice. He thought distantly of Moominmamma and how she cared for others despite them not asking. How she cared for Moomin.

Snufkin didn't want to think about that because it felt so unfair for him to do.

"Do you ever get cold?" he asked, hoping it would get his mind of the dangerous musing.

Joxt shrugged, he was smiling and his hair had curled even more than usual thanks to getting wet. We'll find out, he signed.

Despite what they had decided on earlier, Snufkin thought it warranted to deviate a tiny bit from the route they had previously taken.

He didn't think Joxt would blame him. Neither probably felt much like passing through the large town with the market and bookshop that they had visited on the way to the flowers – Snufkin certainly didn't. The last time they had been there hadn't ended so well for either of them.

Their new direction took them along a more quiet, cut-off path. Instead of the bustling streets and stone-hewn buildings, they found themselves in a much smaller village. One with thatched roofs and clay houses. Smoke still hung heavy in the air here from the many fires burning in metal baskets and while it was smaller, there was a certain excitement hanging in the air. It looked like they had managed to run right into a winter festival taking place.

Joxt had become more accustomed to people over their time spent near the peony field. Perhaps he would never be one for crowds, such as Snufkin himself wasn't. At least he currently dealt better with being in close proximity to strangers, even humans. Though Snufkin could tell he always kept his guard up.

The townsfolk here were clearly celebrating something important to them. Snufkin initially thought it might be the winter solstice, but it was probably too late in the season for that. Paper lanterns were strung in the trees, along the roofs of the houses, and in some cases along fences. Children ran around bundled up in heavy clothes and with mittens and hats, some chasing each other with sticks or playing tag. Their parents stood around watching them fondly and talking among themselves while drinking warmed wine out of earthen cups. In the middle of the town where there was a cluster of cobblestone and a well used for drawing water, there stood something resembling a goat, surrounded by stands in the corners of the square.

It was a crude likeness at best: body made of logs tied together and sturdy twigs to serve as its limbs and horns. Straw was used to give the fake animal a bushy tale and all around it stood gifts wrapped in brown paper covered with a dark tarp that plenty of the younger kids were eyeing eagerly. Some kind of delayed yule celebration then?

Outside many of the houses, people had put up those improvised stands, wanting to profit from the increased foot traffic in their village from neighbors and travelers to earn some gold by selling wares or offering food and drink. Joxt stuck close to Snufkin's side. Losing him here would be hard since there weren't nearly as many people around as the other places they had been, but he understood Joxt wouldn't want to take the risk. They meandered for a very short period of time since it was already becoming dark and they would need to find a place to pitch the tent soon. Snufkin did not want to leave empty-handed, however.

Stumbling upon the festival had been a happy coincidence, but while they were here it was only appropriate he share a new experience with Joxt which he might never have had before, or simply didn't remember. Thankfully the man behind the stall that had caught his eye was not too opposed to trading, and gladly took the remainder of the dried meat Snufkin had managed to save up because Joxt always caught fresh prey.

In return, he was handed two pieces of a fluffy pastry with intricate glazed patterns on top. He handed one to Joxt, who sniffed it as he did all things, not accustomed to the sweet scent. At Snufkin's urging, he took a bite, then immediately a second and third as he tasted the honey-sweetened batter.

"It's good right?" Snufkin laughed when Joxt couldn't do much more than nod eagerly, hands full of cake and too occupied to answer. Then he bit down on something else entirely and a full-body shiver went through him.

Spitting what had disturbed his meal out into his hand in dismay, Snufkin saw the offending material was an uncooked bean.

"Good fortune," Snufkin said, answering the question he was sure Joxt would be posing if he had the ability to. Joxt raised an eyebrow, unable to comprehend how finding a hard, tooth-breaking bean in his cake could be a good thing. "There is a single bean put into every batch, then when it's cut up nobody knows where it is. Finding it in your piece means good luck for the coming year."

Joxt signed with one hand, making it hard to understand him, but Snufkin just about made sense of it. Strange tradition, Joxt had said.

"Humans are very strange creatures."

As they ate the church bell sounded six times and summoned by its call most of the children gathered around the goat statue set up in the middle of the square. As they watched an adult stepped forward, hardly deterred by the throng of excited kids around her legs, and pulled back the tarp to reveal the gifts laid out beneath. The youngest were allowed to go first, receiving their presents before running back to their parents waiting on the sidelines, eagerly showing it off. If their small fingers had trouble ripping the paper, another had to help them get it to tear.

Before long the entire town was filled with giggles and animated calls as toys were unwrapped and shown to friends, in some cases even traded if somebody else had received a toy they liked better. A little girl who had unwrapped a doll started showing it off to anybody who would give her the time of day, waving its cotton-filled arms at family and strangers both.

When all gifts had been handed out and the area more or less cleared out, the children send off to play once more, another woman stepped forward carrying a lit torch. Its flames seemed even brighter in the swiftly descending twilight, and as the onlookers watched with bated breath she held it to the straw that made up the goat's tail and set it aflame.

Snufkin darted a quick glance at Joxt's face, unsure how he could react since his last experience with fire had not been a positive one. But while his mouth had turned into a flat line and the amusement had left his eyes, he did not seem on the verge of having a panic attack. The flames spread to the rest of the fake goat quickly, engulfing it in a hot blaze that smelled vaguely of cedarwood. The noise was a soft crackling nearly drowned out by the people around them talking or singing and the children still hard-pressed to subdue their excitement, not paying attention to the scene.

Before long all that remained was ash and charcoal, dark pieces of nothing. Where Snufkin had been staring at the burning offering had left bright spots on his retinas, sparking in echoed colors each time he blinked. He felt Joxt's hand close around his own.

We go, Joxt said - one-handed again - and pulled him away from the village.

The smells and sounds faded almost instantly, as if they were stepping into a whole other world. From between the trees, nothing filtered through.

"Humans are very strange creatures," Snufkin repeated, unthinkingly and without much meaning.

Joxt turned his head and let go of him. Violent creatures.

Snufkin rubbed his hands against his coat, but they remained sticky from the cake. "Not all of them."

Enough of them to matter.

With no way to disagree, Snufkin simply kept silent as they walked into the night.

Chapter Text

It was in the early hours of the morning that he realized they were being followed.

Tension raised the hairs on the back of his neck, made his nerves stand on end. Faint traces of smoke and embers drifted on the breeze, carried the scent of their musk towards him. They were far away, not close enough for him to feel acutely threatened by their presence. But as they moved, their scent lingered, moving neither further away nor closer towards them, remaining at the same general distance.

This told him they were following in their footsteps.

He did not speak this out loud, or even tried to give any indication to the boy as to what was happening or might occur. To some degree, this had to do with him not feeling nearly as intimated at their presence as he would have expected. What weeks ago still instilled fear in his heart – a creeping of dread crawling so heavily and sluggish up his throat that he could choke on it – was not as harrowing a thought anymore.

Perhaps a part of him was looking forward to it. Was looking forward to facing them without the element of surprise on their side or the fear of losing what could not be replaced. Things would be different this time.

But that didn't mean the thought didn't cross his mind to send the boy off ahead. Keep him safe. Above all else, he did not want him to get hurt by his own folly, or least of all by them.

The boy had bravery in his heart, though. Selflessness that ran deep as blood. He had not met another who would embrace others as such. And he knew the boy would refuse to go if he knew what was going on, and pry the answers out of him if he didn't.

He did not want the boy to go either.

The danger facing them – stalking along their shadows – would be faced together.

Joxt must have thought he was an idiot.

Either that or he might think Snufkin was too unaware to notice the shift in his mood. He was doing his best to hide it, but he wasn't very good at it. Their journey was drawing ever closer to its end, the valley no longer a mere mirage in the distance but a tangible goal close enough they could feel it beneath their fingertips. The sun was peeking through the clouds stronger each day, the clouds rained down on them more frequently but with lighter pours.

They would sit beneath the trees, the newly sprouted oak leaves hardly enough to cover them from the cool end-of-winter showers. Mildew on the grass greeted them each morning, forming a glistening trail for them to follow. Spring was a handful of days away, and they were just as many away from the valley.

"Are you nervous?" Snufkin asked Joxt. "I'm not used to you being this high strung." Because that is the only reason he could think of why the other could be acting like this. He assumed it was only natural, Snufkin wasn't fond of meeting strangers himself.

And while he was sure nothing bad would happen, he couldn't deny he himself was curious what would become of it.

Joxt was not the strangest person to ever visit the valley – not by a long shot. The Moomin family was prone to welcoming anybody into their midst, no matter where they came from or who they were. But with the volatile way Joxt could react to things, Snufkin halfway feared he wouldn't adjust as well as he was hoping.

Nervous what for? Joxt asked him, though there was no angled eyebrow or other indication he was waiting for an answer. He seemed entirely preoccupied and Snufkin bit his lip.

"Meeting the others."

This did make Joxt turn his head. Snufkin was befallen once again with the strongest perception that over time, this man had changed so much from the person he met in the forest into somebody entirely different. Yet stronger still was the impression that he had become more familiar with time.

Which was only an evident evolution Snufkin supposed, but there was something about that which he could not put his finger on.

Friends. Joxt pointed at him.

"They're my friends, yes." Snufkin wasn't sure where he was going with this.

Your friends, my friends. Joxt gave him a thin smile, but it was obviously plastered on with deliberate effort. Whatever was causing him to worry was still present, though the underlying words perhaps surprised Snufkin even more.

Joxt was essentially saying that his trust in Snufkin ran deep enough now that he would consider his judgment final. Coming from someone with considerable trust issues, Snufkin knew he had to be flattered. He still wished he knew what else was upsetting Joxt then.

The sun was still not halfway on its descent but still he hesitated. "If you want we can rest now," he pressed. While he had to adjust to Joxt's natural disposition with time and had become well acquainted with what it took to get him to move faster, Snufkin didn't want to worsen the unknown. Maybe it was a wound aching him still?

But Joxt shook his head in answer, decisiveness made clear through his facial expression. Not here. He was barely able to throw the gestures over his shoulders as he kept walking.

For the first time since their meeting, Snufkin had to hurry to catch up. "What do you mean not here?" Ignoring him, Joxt did not stop nor slow down his stride.

It was alarming in every which way. Snufkin could feel the storm coming but had no grasp on what it would entail, beyond it being harrowing. He knew something was wrong when Joxt froze without warning, turning his face upward as if scenting the wind.

Then the proverbial clouds broke.

The sound that rang out through the forest could best be described as a high-pitched whistle. The note sent a flurry of birds from a nearby tree, wings flapping frantically to get away. Snufkin saw the way it made Joxt's breath hitch, the instant shifting of his pose into defensiveness.

He wasn't sure why but the sound had a similar effect on himself. Despite it not having an intricate meaning to him, it felt threatening in its very presence.

"What-" The words had hardly been allowed to escape his mouth when the rustle of leaves alerted them to hurried footsteps and something much faster moving towards them. Snufkin's sensitive hearing picked up on it a moment after Joxt, shoulder squared back waiting for impact. Casting his eyes around desperately, Snufkin had no clue as to what was approaching them.

Until it quite literally came barreling into them.

Or into Joxt more accurately. Snufkin felt the other man's hands against his shoulder for a split second, the warmth brushing against the exposed patch of skin between his scarf and then he was pitched forward, barely able to catch himself from falling onto his face and rolling onto his shoulder instead.

Joxt had pushed him out of the path of the impact. What had charged at them flew into him at full force, throwing him onto his back, and then there was the sound of growling – both Joxt's own and that of the thing which had jumped on him.

Snufkin needed a blatant moment to realize it was a large dog.

Its sharp canines had dug into the bare flesh between Joxt's wrist and arm, teeth grinding against bone but unable to tear off. Joxt had his fingers tangled in the animal's fur, a tight grasp around its neck the only thing keeping its jaw from snapping shut repeatedly. The hurried footsteps were still closing in.

With no idea what was going on besides a profound knowledge that it was terribly bad, Snufkin pushed himself up onto his knees again. The fall had startled him into paralysis at first, but Joxt's pained grunt when the dog bit into him harder snapped him out of it. Feeling nothing beyond incredible fear and confusion, Snufkin's hand curled around the nearest thing he could find.

Bringing the branch up above his head – not dissimilar to how Joxt had done it in the orchard – Snufkin put all his strength into bringing it down in a clean sideways arch. He hit the dog in the midriff, eliciting a loud yelp from it that made him feel quite guilty, though not guilty enough to entirely regret his actions. Especially as he saw Joxt curled up underneath, blood dripping from the gash on his arm and onto his face, expression contorted in equal measures of pain and anger.

The dog had been quick to jump off when Snufkin hit it, slinking into the bushes and towards those footsteps with a low whine. Any second now they would be upon them, and Snufkin's fingers curled around Joxt's uninjured wrist automatically, trying to get him up in time.

It was a fruitless effort.

The man that stepped out of the undergrowth was cast in shadows, making it hard to discern his shape in the forming twilight. Jumping around his legs, the dog was nipping at his heels playfully, though the smack had clearly left it more subdued than before and not eager to try for another round. Joxt had made it onto his knees by now and just like weeks ago, pulled Snufkin behind himself as if guided by natural instinct. The growl that was coming out of his throat was much louder and more guttural than before.

Snufkin had a vivid image in his mind of the men who approached them outside the village; how the cruel detachment in their eyes had sent vileness down his throat. He had thought that as far as humans were concerned, those men must have been the worst of the worst, a singular exemption.

Looking into the pale grey eyes before him, it was clear he had been wrong.

With a snap of his fingers, the dog quieted down - indicating it to be a well-trained animal. Snufkin realized the whistle they heard earlier must have also been a signal and the implication only made his gut clench tighter. Joxt's hold on him grew firmer, clutching against his arm. He was shaking.

"Can't say I was expecting you to come back through after all this time," the man said. His voice had a sharp edge to it, a wickedness which made Snufkin bite the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. "But then, perhaps I should have. A good runt always returns to its masters."

The words drew out another noise from Joxt, short-lived. The silent murderous energy radiating off him in waves could not be understood by Snufkin at any other time, but as he looked at the man standing in front of him, it was odd to know he did understand.

A length of sturdy rope hung from the man's hip, looping in on itself. His hunting boots were caked in dirt and the hilt of a dagger peeked out from the side of his belt. With small whines the dog idled around his feet, nearly worked into a frenzy by the smell of Joxt's blood on the evening air but waiting steadily for another command. A hunter.

There was no doubt about it. This was one of the humans who had done to Joxt all the things Snufkin dare not think of.

Cursing his own stupidity, Snufkin could feel the breath he was holding burn in his lungs – refusing to be exhaled at a normal rate. He had not for a moment considered that passing through the same area he had at the start of autumn – the same area where he found Joxt – would mean passing through the territory these humans called their own. How was he to know they would still be here, would still be resentful? Or even that they would find them to begin with?

"And you even brought me a little gift." The man's bleached eyes landed on Snufkin, holding nothing but cruel intentions. The smile on that face revealed just a little too much teeth, the lines etched into his forehead distorted by the force of his grin.

Joxt sprung into motion. His legs pushed off in one great effort, the force of it nearly sending Snufkin sprawling again since he was leaning against Joxt's body a moment prior. The movement was too fast to catch properly, yet when Joxt stilled he was crouching on nothing, the man having sidestepped his attack with ease.

"I'm guessing you're still cross with us about the child." His laugh rang out in the forest like church bells. Another short whistle and the dog barked in delight at being told what to do. It sprinted off into the growing darkness. "But we can make it up to you both. I'm sure they'll love to see you again. They missed playing."

Confusion at the first statement was pushed to the back of Snufkin's mind as he registered the second. The human worked with others, and those others would be called here by the dog in a matter of minutes at most. Smart enough to know he would not be able to win against an enraged Joxt on his own, he had called for them to increase his odds.

The same thought must have sunk into Joxt's mind. His arm shot out but was caught around the wrist before it could make contact. Landing his own fist in the underside of Joxt's stomach, the man watched him double over, then took advantage of the angle to knee Joxt in the face.

Blood started pouring out of his nose immediately, but Joxt seemed not to notice as he tried to recover from the blow quickly enough to anticipate the next. Snufkin had stood there rooted to the ground watching the mayhem unfold, but with the shock and disorientation slowly ebbing away it was replaced with a much more powerful fervor. The man was reaching for his knife.

Snufkin was worried for Joxt's well-being.

He was spurred into motion without consideration, his feet moving without his consent or proper planning. Transfixed on the man who had turned his back towards him. Maybe it had been Joxt shielding him with his body which had convinced the human Snufkin would not pose a threat, maybe it had been Joxt's aimless anger which had diverted his attention.

Either way, Snufkin knew he could use it to his advantage.

The stick was still in his hand, the uneven surface of the branch digging into his fist unpleasantly. Snufkin couldn't even say why he hadn't let go of it. The dog had been a much smaller target, but the strength he put behind the strike was that much greater. With a thud that reminded Snufkin oddly of when Moominmamma would pop corn kernels over the fire pit in summer, the man's knees buckled under him and he fell to the ground. Red splashed against the few green sprouts of spring grass starting to force their way through the hardened earth.

Joxt fell too and Snufkin thought he must be gravely hurt. But then he saw the way Joxt lowered himself, knees braced on either side of the man, leaning over him. Intentionally. His hands reached out, slow and deliberate and Snufkin could see every scar along the tainted skin.

Wrapping his claws around the man's throat, Joxt started to squeeze.

The man's eyes flew open, though the hit had left him half-dazed still. He had enough presence of mind left to struggle against the fingers pressing bruises into his skin, robbing the air from his lungs. Joxt pushed down harder, hard enough to draw blood. Snufkin stood there and watched it happen.

The sound of the dog returning snapped him out of it. He grabbed hold of Joxt's shoulder, swallowing away his apprehension over the tension in his muscles, the strain with which Joxt was forcing this human's airway shut.

The unemotion with which he was going about it.

"Joxt, we need to get out of here." Doing his best to sound urgent yet calm – a balancing act that made little sense – Snufkin pulled at him softly. "Please."

Joxt didn't react, pushing harder, bearing down. It rumbled in his chest, but when the man stopped moving he let go. Joxt sat there for a moment as if he wanted to make sure. The human's eyes were wide open, nearly escaping his sockets and his face was pale and morbid. Snufkin knew he would carry the sight with him for a long time.

The dog let out a short bark, much too close for comfort and they ran.

Fear seized Snufkin's throat, a hundredfold worse than all those times he had been chased by the park keeper. Joxt was pulling at his sleeve, redirecting him to the river and when they finally came upon the swirling water he realized why.

Their scent would be easily washed away by the stream, strengthened by the mountain's melting snowcaps. If they could cross it, the dog would lose their trail and so would the other humans.

Joxt was already ankle-deep into the water, waiting for Snufkin to join him. Inhaling deeply so he could steel himself against the icy cold, Snufkin stepped in as well. The flow was a lot stronger than he expected and he tried to make it quick but had to be careful not to be carried away. Joxt kept looking over his shoulder anxiously, but there were no more sounds of pursuit behind them.

Snufkin was just about to point this out when he felt himself slip on one of the smooth stones embed into the riverbank. Expecting the shattering experience of mountain water rushing over him, Snufkin inhaled sharply. But instead, it was Joxt who kept him upright, pulled him against his chest, and dragged him to the other side of the river.

Relief flooded Snufkin's awareness, feeling a similar sentiment coming from Joxt though they didn't have time to say as much while still in view of the opposite bank. They hastily made their way deeper into the forest, until the trees and shrubbery would conceal them and they were both tuckered out, but safe.

Something pulled at him. Not physically, but in the constriction of his chest cavity. Snufkin sank down on the ground exhausted, not sure his legs could support him any longer. Joxt did the same, their bodies near enough to touch, Joxt's hand sprawled protectively against the top of Snufkin's hair.

What had been lost had been refound, but the knowledge wasn't there yet. It simply simmered inches beneath Snufkin's consciousness. Maybe tomorrow he could put it into reason.

For a much bigger mystery was plaguing his mind.

"W-why-" It was hard to gasp out between labored breathing, tasting the empty hollow on his tongue. Snufkin wasn't sure he was ready to know the answer, but if he didn't ask he'd never know. "Why did you kill him?"

The stars formed a tapestry far above them, inky black with dots of thread woven through. Joxt didn't do anything for a while, Snufkin not having noticed that he couldn't see his hands so he wouldn't even be able to tell the sign language. He only felt those fingers covered with blood curled into his hair, patting absentmindedly as if Joxt needed to reassure himself of Snufkin's very presence.

The river seemed louder than ever all of the sudden.

With a harsh cough, Joxt used his voice to speak.

"He deserved it." His deep tenor tilted roughly with disuse and pain. "He deserved to die."

Snufkin could not argue whether that was true. He closed his eyes to the sound of that voice and nothing more.

Chapter Text

The water was rising.

He watched his face ripple in the shivering surface, deformed and unshapen, changing in waves both big and small. A younger version of himself stared back at him – complexion smooth and freckled, tanned by the sun.

There were no scars on his throat.

He turned around when the child mewled softly, its legs kicking out beneath the blanket. Leaning forward, he tugged the fabric closer to its body hoping it will keep them warm. Their small hand caught his finger, curled around it with unmeasurable comfort. With a fond smile, he allowed them to hold on a little longer.

Then the sky started darkening, clouds formed from nothing obscuring the daylight.

Intrinsic fear bloomed in his gut even before he heard the heavy fall of their footsteps behind him. Unsteady, hot breathing trailed down the back of his neck, settled into his bones with grave intensity. His hand wrapped around the basket protectively, holding the child closer to him. Its eyes were light, brown flecked with dots of golden sun. It blinked up at him with little awareness of what was about to occur.

He already knew.

Dream and memory blended together as one – the edges frayed and reattached to form something not quite true, not quite a lie. They smiled at him as they reached out their hand to touch his neck.

The water soaked his sleeves up to the elbow, but the basket floated. He did not know what he would have done if it hadn't. Shallow movements made it bob on the water, cascading side to side and granting him a final, brief glimpse at the child as it disappeared from his life forever.

While sharp pain dug into his skin and pulled rivets down his back, he did not care for his own safety in a blink. He would remember those eyes, their shade of moistened beach sand or rough tree bark. The shimmer of stars reflecting back at him when he stroked soft, russet-colored hair that was always wont to form unruly curls.

Even if he would never be able to find that child again, the knowledge that they lived a life taken from him would give him peace in death.

"You're just being obstinate now," Snufkin said for what felt like the hundredth time. But he hadn't been counting, so he couldn't be sure. They were sitting at the fire by nightfall, listening to the crackling of the burning branches. The air was moist with the beginnings of spring just a day away.

Joxt scowled at him, a full-body effort. Shoulders drawn back, the crease in his brow pronounced and his nose pulled up. It was a funny sight – not terrifying at all. Snufkin couldn't help thinking about the angry man, claws tight around his throat and eyes wide and unseeing.

While there might not be a purpose to debating on whether he deserved retaliation or not for what he had done, Snufkin was certain of one thing.

He was not scared of Joxt.

He was scared by what happened. The events themselves had settled a fright in his chest he hadn't often found there, and the first night after that happened Snufkin had not slept a minute. He had laid awake and listened to Joxt's quiet snoring, not being able to get that man's anguished expression out of his mind's eye. What had happened to Joxt must have been more terrible than he could imagine. It was slowly shaping up in front of Snufkin, the corner of a drape you pull up inch by inch to reveal what horrible secret lies beneath so slowly you're left wondering if you should continue divulging or whether it was safer to stop.

How many years had Joxt been held captured by these people? It had not been considered by Snufkin, distracted by all the atrocities that had been inflicted on Joxt while there. But now he was starting to realize it might be a lot longer than he had taken into consideration.

Snufkin was not scared of Joxt but scared for the kind of person he used to be – what kind of suffering could have shaped him into the person he had become. And that's why he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Joxt was too busy glowering at him to notice the troubling thoughts swirling inside Snufkin's head, neither was he a mind reader. The way his cheeks sort of bunched up when he made this expression amused Snufkin in a detached way. Joxt's face had been so gaunt when they met, sunken in from a lack of food. He reached out and impulsively poked Joxt's cheek.

To his credit Joxt merely increased his efforts at looking peeved, though it gave away to tired resignation in due time. While he might be one of the most stubborn people Snufkin had ever met, two could play that game. Joxt must be growing tired of him insisting.

"We know you can talk," Snufkin said. "Well, we knew all along – but you showed it off quite impressively the other night. I would like to hear it once more."

Joxt shook his head. Hard.

"I know, I don't mean to press you," Snufkin sighed halfheartedly. "But it would do you well, I think." This was not entirely a lie. In all other aspects, Joxt's improvement had been better than Snufkin could have hoped for and he was filled with nothing but relief that the other man seemed to be doing so much better with time. The only thing that had remained lacking was a voice and Snufkin was starting to fear that if Joxt could not recover his soon, he might never do so.

But even more, Snufkin had become too curious to bear.

He felt as if he had been chasing a cloud all winter, hopelessly beyond his grasp and moving inch by inch outside his reach. Every time he thought he had found the loose end of the rope, he pulled at more tangles. Hearing Joxt talk that night near the river, the wetness sinking into his clothes, the smell of humans and blood caught in the wind. The rushing of the water and those words carried through.

Snufkin knew deep inside there was something about that combination. He simply couldn't say what. And he was desperate to figure it out.

If only he could hear Joxt's voice once more.

Unable to explain, Snufkin bit his lip. "The other night," he repeated lowly. Joxt's face softened. "Did you mean what you said?" If he couldn't get an answer to all these other mysteries, he could at least get one for this. They hadn't mentioned it since. "What you did-"

Joxt stopped him by pulling on his sleeve. Snufkin had become accustomed to it over time.

Drawing his hand back, the flames cast fluid shadows all over Joxt's features. At night, Snufkin always seemed to think his eyes became impossibly even brighter than they usually already were. They sat still for a long while, but Snufkin knew Joxt wasn't thinking about what to answer. He was thinking about how to phrase what was already plain as day to both of them.

No regret, Joxt signed eventually. A nearby cricket chirped restlessly.

"I'm not saying you should," Snufkin clarified. "I guess I'm just... trying to understand."

It must be exceedingly callous for him to say as such, coming from a place of fortune. Snufkin only could think this way because he had never been in the positions Joxt had been in. Yet still, seeing what he had, the fear that had ceased his heart when for even a brief glimpse he thought Joxt might get hurt again – or worse. Maybe in a different manner Snufkin could understand perfectly.

Joxt gestured again and this time Snufkin had a bit more trouble getting what he meant. Yet another reason why it would be easier if Joxt could regain his ability to talk. Weeks of familiarity had made their communication almost as fluid, but there were still times it fell short. When it became clear Snufkin wouldn't get him, Joxt decided to put it another way.

Balling both hands into fists, the movement was quick and short-lived. Snufkin blinked twice, but he already knew what it meant.

Protect, Joxt had said. They hurt.

Snufkin swallowed uneasily, staring at his own hands instead of Joxt's face. For some reason, it was suddenly hard to meet Joxt's eye. "Your condition when I found you. It was caused by them, right?"

Out of the corner of his vision, he could catch Joxt growing rigid for a blank second, perhaps revisiting those unpleasant memories. A small nod was all he got in response.

"How long? Did they have you for, I mean." Asking about what must have been one of the most dreadful experiences Snufkin could think of – robbed of freedom and kept against your will by those that would only inflict pain on you for their own warped amusement – made him sick to his very stomach. They didn't have much more for dinner than some berries and a handful of bread leftover from days ago. If Snufkin wasn't careful, he would expel even that meager meal.

Do not know, Joxt told him. He shrugged his shoulders, laid-back in a way that did not befit the gravity of the horror they were speaking of. Snufkin wasn't sure whether to count it as a win, a sign that Joxt had truly become more comfortable around him. Or something much worse. His attention was drawn by Joxt again.

Long, he added after a moment. Very, very long.

Snufkin did his best not to bite the inside of his cheek out of consternation. "Weeks?"

This time it was Joxt who looked away, the shadows obscuring his face. Somehow it made him look simultaneously younger and older than Snufkin had ever known him. More guarded, yet as if a single blow of wind could wipe him away. His hands remained steady. Longer.

"Months?" Snufkin gasped involuntarily and was even more horrified when Joxt looked at him again, eyes narrowed.

Much longer.

At once Snufkin did not want to pursue this line of conversation any longer, no matter how curious he had been about it before. "Why?" he chocked out, but doubted that Joxt would have an answer.

To his surprise, a ghost of a smile moved over Joxt's face. In any other situation, Snufkin could have mistaken it for the relics of nostalgia. He knew better.

Hunting, Joxt explained. Stealing, fighting. The next motion was unfamiliar to Snufkin, but it might be better if he didn't know so he didn't ask. Useful to them, Joxt finished.

Silence was all Snufkin could manage in response, with no consolation to offer even if he had been able to utter words through the reflexive clenching of his teeth. With only this little information to go on, he was already utterly disgusted and he realized he didn't want to know more. Joxt clearly took no pleasure in talking about it, and there was nothing to gain for Snufkin to hear of it.

"I'm sorry-" he said eventually. "My intention wasn't to remind you of that unpleasantness. I understand you were just trying to protect yourself."

Joxt made a noise that almost made Snufkin startle, despite it not being loud at all. It was something halfway between a snort and a chuckle. Snufkin shot up his head to look at him and caught the traces of a grin on Joxt's face. You, he was pointing at Snufkin. Protect you.

Through the dizzying constricting of his chest, Snufkin forced the wisp of a smile.

But despite it all, he couldn't be truly happy about it.

As silly as it was for him to believe, Snufkin always thought the valley smelled different.

It was not the kind of thing he could describe, maybe the sensation had taken home in his heart without him consciously permitting it to. Coming back here year after year had ingrained the winding path of the river and the rolling hills it nestled between in his very veins. His arrival in spring was the closest thing Snufkin would ever feel like coming home.

This time apprehension drowned out the usual excitement at the sight of that long familiar valley.

Joxt on the other hand seemed to be more relaxed. Snufkin wanted to take this as a good sign, if the humans were still tracking them surely Joxt would have noticed by now. But he couldn't be certain. He had no choice but to put the thought out of his mind for the time being.

It was a hard worry to keep hold of anyway when the ground started sloping downward beneath their feet and before he knew it Snufkin could discern the shape of the Moominhouse below them. The winding river carried itself through the middle of the valley and not far from the house, where a wooden bridge used to cross the turmoiling water lay, which was where Snufkin usually put up his tent for these months of the year.

It was also where Moomintroll stood waiting on him, as always.

He would never admit to it in hindsight, but both Snufkin's heart and feet quickened at the notion. Before he could properly stop himself his idle walking had turned into a near jog aided by the fact he was going downhill. As embarrassing as it was, he might have briefly forgotten about Joxt in his haste.

Moomin was a blur of movement, trying to wave at him with both arms while also running up to meet him. Snufkin was scared the poor troll was going to trip over himself in his fervor, but luckily no such thing happened. Instead, he found himself slowing down his momentum just in time before the two of them barreled into each other too forcefully. Scarcely being able to prevent them both from tumbling onto the ground, Snufkin laughed at the way Moomin clasped his paws around his neck with undue force, pulling him so close it almost hurt a bit.

He could feel Moomin laughing too, the way his body shook against Snufkin's own. "I'm very happy to see you too, Moomintroll," he managed through the tightness of the embrace. Usually he wouldn't be fond of it, but after not seeing Moomin for this long Snufkin simply couldn't bring himself to mind.

"It's been forever," Moomin said, which had Snufkin arching an amused brow for he knew his friend had been asleep for the majority of that time. "The strangest thing hap-"

Moomin stopped himself before he could finish the sentence, staring at something over Snufkin's shoulder and it was in that moment that Joxt popped back into his mind. Moomin's surprise had loosened the hold of the hug and Snufkin stepped back quickly to turn around.

As was to be expected Joxt had followed him down. He was standing just a few feet away, looking at a loss for what to do or possibly confused by the situation. Snufkin found it quite humorous that despite everything, this is what would puzzle the other man.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Moomin dropped his arms, though he looked regretful to do so. He titled his head to the side. "You brought a... friend?"

The way Moomin said the word was hesitant in its own way. As if the idea that Snufkin would make a friend while he was away was a shock in itself. Snufkin could hardly blame him.

"Moomin, this is Joxt." Snufkin walked over to grab Joxt by the elbow, both as a form of comfort and to make sure he didn't do anything rash or try to run away. He'd never know with Joxt. "I uh... found him in a spot of trouble during the journey. We helped each other out." The entire story would have to wait, so Snufkin decided this would suffice as the shorthand version for now. "So he wanted to come visit the valley with me."

They hadn't actually discussed how long Joxt would stay for. If he would want to remain all summer, maybe even travel with Snufkin again next autumn, assuming they hadn't been able to figure out the lost memory thing by then.

Moomin looked perturbed only for a blink longer, but as always was quick to adapt to changing plans. And even more quick to welcome a new friend into his life. "It's nice to meet you, Joxt!" Moomin gave him his most beaming smile.

Joxt blinked at him and waved.

"He doesn't talk," Snufkin explained quickly. "Or can't. Strange fellow." He ignored the glare Joxt sent his way at those words.

"Oh!" Moomin nodded. "Mamma might know what to do about that."

"We better go see her then," Snufkin said. He had even more apprehension about introducing Joxt to a house full of strangers, but there was no use postponing the inevitable. If he got it over with quickly, he could focus on other things. Besides, it would save him the trouble of having to tell the story of how the two met several times over.

He held onto Joxt's elbow as they walked the short distance to the house. Joxt seemed unimpressed at the sight of the valley and kept stealing quick glances at Moomin who led the way while excitingly talking to Snufkin, who couldn't do much more than hum the occasional reply. The expression of confusion had not left Joxt at all.

Snufkin was just deciding he should ask about it – perhaps not now but certainly later – when they arrived at the house. Moomin ran inside ahead of them, calling for his family and Snufkin followed meekly, not knowing what kind of reaction to expect. He just hoped the others would agree to help him find whatever Joxt was looking for.

Brushing his shoes on the doormat - Joxt with his bare feet not bothering to do the same - Snufkin inhaled deeply the welcoming scents of the house. The wooden floor always creaked the same, no matter how long he had been gone for. Going by the smell, Mamma was busy making the first strawberry pie of spring – the sweetness having permeated the air despite the open windows. Distantly, Snufkin could hear Moomin talking to his parents.

Still pulling Joxt along, Snufkin made his way into the kitchen, where Moominpappa was sitting at the table drinking his morning tea. Moomin and Mamma were talking at the sink, about to turn around. Pappa was faster though, attempting to put down his cup while he raised his snout.

The sight before him appeared to shock him to the very core, brown eyes growing wide as they settled on Joxt, who had next to no reaction.

When it fell to the floor the teacup shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter Text

He had been in the valley once.

It must have been ages ago, before the child even. Patches in his memory blurred by the passing of time as much as the awful things as happened in between. When this recognition dawned, it was easy to cast away at first, choking it up to one of a few hundred reasons he could find for the slow unfurling in his head.

But then the bright blue house rose as a beacon from the mist stuck inside his mind.

He recognized it. Not with any tangible meaning, not with the power of words, names, images. But in the way one might smell the lingering vapor of a fire in the air, and recognize what it means to be burned.

The boy had not noticed and was too preoccupied with his greeting rituals to do so. He faltered, staring at the creature who had so casually acquainted himself with them. Similar to the house, wisps of white fur drew back from the recesses of his memory in a manner unlike anything before it, but he could not place them. They seemed friendly, warm – and they hugged the boy like a friend would, soft touches of ample longing. He recognized them from the boy's stories, surely.

He was mildly surprised to learn the house was theirs. Its red roof stood out starkly against the early spring sky, making him tilt his head up to look at it. A rusty wind vane spun rapid circles in the spring breeze. Staring at it was mesmerizing, hypnotic almost. There was something about that wind vane on the tip of his tongue.

The boy's pull on his arm disengaged his thoughts, leading him inside. His eyes traced the patterns along the wallpaper's yellowed edges, a well-lived house. The scent, unlike anything he was able to recall, unlike anything from the road. He noticed the way the boy inhaled deeply as well, savoring the same. It was easy for him to tell the boy cherished this place, as it was precious to him. The mere thought put him at ease.

But the big one's reaction to seeing him startled him, instinctively made him bristle. The cup shattered on the floor and the sound felt physical, a whip put into motion. The urge to flee pushed itself to the forefront of his mind, curled into his gut with odd familiarity. At home in the empty spaces between his ribs. The only thing anchoring his feet to the floor was the boy's fist still lightly curled around his clothing. A low sound of warning telling them not to approach.

And if there is hurt on their faces, he will not know what it means either.

Snufkin's eyes had followed the cup in its sudden descent, watching in rapt confusion as it broke on Moominmamma's kitchen floor. There suddenly was a lot of commotion and in the overlap of voices and confusion, it was hard for him to know why, though he guessed Joxt was the source of it. He usually was.

Then he noticed Moominpappa was getting up, taking a step forward, followed by the clenching of Joxt's muscles in defensiveness and a growl escaping his throat not unlike what Snufkin had heard that night with the humans. The memory still sent a shiver down his spine – the thought of something similarly unpleasant happening now was more than Snufkin could take. "Wait-" he said desperately, high-pitched voice barely rising over the tumult and it caused the others to stop, staring at him in uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," Snufkin said next, though he was unsure what he was apologizing for. "Joxt does not do well with strangers, you shouldn't scare him."

"Strangers?" Moominpappa laughed, though there was a tension there that felt misplaced, as if he could tell something was wrong already. "Why, we're hardly strangers! Though he sometimes acts it, not even one letter in over a decade, dear fellow?"

Joxt did not react. Snufkin felt compelled to do so for him. "I'm afraid that if you've met him, he wouldn't remember either way. He's lost his memories quite some time ago."

For a moment Pappa and Mamma both were at a loss for what to say, though Snufkin could tell this new particularity only increased their confusion. Mamma's eyes were drawn with worry, her paws held the dishcloth she had been busy with anxiously. Moomin was standing at her side, seemingly as bewildered as Snufkin felt. But Pappa had the most peculiar expression on his face of all. It could only be described as a mix between disappointment and concern, as he stood half-raised out of his chair. After a few tense seconds, the only thing he managed to bring out was a small pained sound under his breath.

"Oh dear..." Moominmamma recovered first, pushing the dishcloth down the front pocket of her apron and undoing the knot that kept it tied around her waist. Moomin titled his snout as she hung it on the peg, shaking her head woefully. "Oh dear," she repeated while putting a paw on her husband's shoulder. "You might do well sitting down for the explanation." At those last words, she looked at Snufkin too, indicating she expected him to do the same.

Utterly befuddled – even more so than before – Snufkin plopped down on the nearest chair, unable to refuse. Joxt stayed standing, arms braced at his sides taut with tension. But for the moment he wasn't running away and Snufkin could count that as a good sign.

"Where to begin, where to begin." Pappa was holding his chin as he muttered deep in thought. Snufkin had not the slightest idea of what was going on, but had trouble patiently waiting for answers – which was so very unlike him. For once, he could hardly contain his curiosity. "Come to think of it, it might be easier if I just pop into my study and-"

Moominmamma interrupted him with a fond sigh. She was clearly used to this, but the situation was too pressing in her eyes to afford distractions of any kind. "I'm sure there's no time for that," she said, glancing at the way Snufkin was clenching his fingers against the tabletop and Moomin was practically bouncing in his own seat.

Casting his eyes to Joxt with a worried expression, Pappa sat back down while mumbling. "Yes, I suppose you're right. We'll have to get to the other bits later."

"What other bits?" Moomin piped up from his chair, but Mamma shook her head.

"This man," Pappa asked, indicating Joxt with one paw. He got an annoyed glare in response. "What did you call him just now?"

Snufkin swallowed. "Joxt. He's unable to speak much, but as I figured it that's his name."

Mamma and Pappa shared a brief look. Snufkin was near tempted to tell them to just spit it out already, the anticipation must be killing him. But for as much as he couldn't bring himself to say it, he could barely bring himself to move. Like something terrible might happen if he did.

"Well, it's close enough. When we knew him he went by Joxter."

"Joxter," Snufkin echoed numbly. He was starting to lose sensation in his fingertips from holding on so tight, unable to stop. "As in-"

Moomin shot up from his seat, earning another angry hiss from a startled Joxt. "The Joxter from your memoirs?" His voice pitched higher in his excitement.

"The very same." Moominpappa looked at Joxt again, the same countenance of worry returning. "Though he looked a bit different back then. I hardly recognized him."

"But doesn't that mean..." Moomin started, before trailing off in his own musing. Snufkin already knew what he was going to say either way. His head was spinning with the thought.

"I need some air," he heard himself say as if distanced through a tunnel. The chair scraped loudly for he pushed it backward strongly, threatening to topple over though Snufkin narrowly avoided as much. He could tell Moomin wanted to get up as well, but Mamma was holding his paw to stop him.

Snufkin ran outside, the thoughts in his head a swirling mess. He barely got as far as the first tree before Joxt caught up with him. His hand grabbed hold of the back of his coat easily, preventing him from running away even further. Joxt turned him around effortlessly, almost lifting him off his feet to do so. Snufkin had to make an effort not to huff like a small child.

Wrong? Joxt asked. His hair was getting longer again, Snufkin might need to cut it again soon. He didn't know why this was the thing he noticed at that moment.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said. "I'm just... surprised."

Surprised why?

It wasn't until then that Snufkin had realized Joxt would have been unable to follow the conversation they just had in the house, or draw the conclussions they had. If he even had bothered to be listening at all and wasn't just zoning out again. He bit at his lip to avoid answering.

Where would he even start?

Before he could decide, he felt Joxt's arms brace around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. Or the closest thing that passed for it in Joxt's perception, who despite all the time they spent together and how at ease he had grown with Snufkin over time, still approached most any physical contact with a certain stiffness. Snufkin sighed, and patted the man on the back a few times.

"I believe we better go back inside and get this all sorted out," he said reluctantly. "We don't want the others to worry about us any more than they already do either."

Joxt let go, scrunching up his nose a bit to show what he thought of that. Snufkin knew he didn't like to be inside, but with what he just learned it was the thought that Joxt would prefer not to be around the Moomin family which smarted even more.

"They've healed nicely, all things considered," Moominmamma said when they finally got Joxt out of his clothes so she could inspect the scars his wounds had left. "You treated them well. Though I shiver at the thought of what could have caused this."

Snufkin tried not to pale at his own knowledge. "So do I."

Getting Joxt to show the scars was a difficult task - one that required them to herd Pappa and Moomin into the living room and away so that Joxt would even consider undressing. He was still eying Moominmamma with hesitance, pulling away when her soft paws reached out to scrutinize the old wounds on his back. But he didn't lash out and Snufkin knew that was thanks to Mamma's gentle nature. She exuded the sort of calm, unthreatening energy Joxt would do best with.

Unlike Moomin, whose barely subdued energy and excitement had puzzled Joxt and made him wary of being close to him. Or Pappa, who despite how much he tried to be patient grew visibly frustrated over his old friend's inability to recall him. By now Joxt must have understood what they were trying to tell him – that he had met these trolls in the past, had even considered Pappa a friend – but they didn't get much more than a shrug out of him in response. Not for the first time at all Snufkin wondered what was going on in Joxt's mind.

Pressing against Joxt's shoulder to make him turn to the side so she could see his neck properly caused him to hiss warningly at Mamma, to which Snufkin kicked against Joxt's foot. He raised his hands to sign, for the first time resorting to Joxt's way of talking himself.

Be good, Snufkin said. friends, remember?

Joxt's lips pulled into a faint smirk at the sight of Snufkin using the sign language.

"He can't talk, right?" Mamma asked. She fussed over Joxt's more recent bruises for a moment – the ones he sustained because of their encounter with the humans.

"He's said a few words," Snufkin answered. "But he can't talk as a normal person should."

"Well, not all normal people talk my dear." Moominmamma walked over to the sink to wash her hands. "But I do agree it's not normal for him. As I remember, it used to be much harder to get him to keep quiet." She smiled lightly, but Joxt still did not react. Snufkin was starting to get seriously worried.

"It's not a physical injury at least. I believe his voice should return on its own, in due time."

Snufkin nodded in understanding. "And his memory?"

A frown pulled at the soft features of Mamma's face and her shoulders dropped as if put under a heavy weight. "I'm afraid that's harder to say. There's no instant cure for fleeting memories at least..." She considered it for a moment. "Perhaps they will return on their own too, perhaps they won't. We might be able to help them along, by telling stories or sharing our own recollections."

With a painful pang of guilt, Snufkin realized he had no way to help with that. He did not recall much of his childhood, and certainly nothing from before the orphanage. Even if this man – this person who had until mere months ago been a complete stranger to him – was related to Snufkin, was his father.

Snufkin didn't remember him. Or any of the sparing time they might have spent together.

All he knew was the bitter irony that was them finding each other again under such circumstances. Woefully unaware and unable to make things right.

As if reading the thought from his very face, Moominmamma beckoned him over to the sink. Joxt was putting his clothes back on and not listening to their conversation. "Have you told him?"

"N-no-" Snufkin barely got it out. He was suddenly very grateful the others weren't here. "I'm afraid I don't know how. I'm still coming to terms with it myself, it's hard to tell how he would react."

Or maybe he was merely scared for what reaction he knew that could be.

"Oh, I know you will decide on it eventually." Mamma put the kettle on the stove, before starting to lead them both back into the living room. "But in the meantime, why don't we all have tea and biscuits together and you can share the full story of how this came to be. I'm sure it will help us figure out what to do as well." Spoken with the conviction of a troll who had never encountered an unsolvable situation before.

Snufkin would never admit it, but it was hard not to find some comfort in those words.

"Right, I'm sure Moomin is trembling out of his fur with anticipation too. I better not keep him waiting much longer." Otherwise coming back early would have been in vain anyway. Between all the strangeness, Snufkin was looking forward to the normalcy of recounting stories with Moomin, sharing his spring song, and simply walking through the valley together. "And Joxt-" He turned his head to watch in some amusement how his charge was faring. Moominpappa had cornered him immediately as they came out of the kitchen and was reading to a disinterested Joxt from a stack of disarrayed papers Snufkin could only assume would be part of his memoirs someday.

By all accounts, Joxt looked just as unaffected as earlier, which made dejection fall heavy as a stone into Snufkin's gut. Would this be a completely hopeless endeavor then? Would fate be as cruel as to give him back the parent he had been longing for his entire childhood, only to destroy all significance it might hold?

But then Mamma was carrying a tray of delicious smelling biscuits to put on the middle of the table, and Moomin was bounding over to him as if this was just another spring unlike any others, ready to share in the adventures that would surely unfold.

And at least Snufkin knew that whatever would come next, he wouldn't have to do it alone.

Chapter Text

There used to be a boat.

It carried him in his dreams, the soft motions of the vessel on the waves and the off-kilter rushing of the ocean. There was no difference between the hammock he made his perch or the bounding of the boat, up and down – right to left. He could close his eyes to imagine it was a cloud he was drifting on, away from the places that confined him.

Maybe that was why he dreamt of it so often in his cage. The river and the boat, fluidity coursing through his veins when it couldn't reach him through stone walls and iron shackles.

The hammock that hung between two trees outside the blue house was much the same. It swayed in the chilly spring breeze, bent heavy beneath his weight. He liked it – the breeze and the hammock both. The inside of the house was crowded, and noisy. Full of words and memories he did not understand. They told him stories of places he had been, but doesn't remember. People he had known, but doesn't remember.

Things he had done that made him want to rip the skin from his face.

And from up here he could keep an eye on the boy and the young one. They sat on the bridge, talking among themselves while the boy fished for food. The young one braided flower crowns, bright yellow daffodils and lily of the valley for the boy. The boy smiled a lot too – a lot more than he did on the road, filled with wonder at the world and freedom of breathe wrought with concern. As beautiful as the world at large was, he could tell the boy was smart enough to be wary of it. But nestled between these hills there was comfort, safety, security.

It was hard for him not to be affected by this, not to consider them both to be safe here.

That did not take away the hurt of that which is missing.

The young one approached him, careful steps and movements. He wondered what the boy told them. The flower crown they handed him was fastened branches of purple statice with pink gladiolus woven between. Remembrance was its meaning, a well-wishes for the future. He took it without a word.

With time, it had become impossible to tell whether it would be better for him to remember or remain ignorant forever.

Snufkin had heard the saying before that you wouldn't be able to really miss something until it was gone.

He couldn't say he exactly agreed with the sentiment, but for the valley and him, it rang at least partly true. Every autumn when he left, he wasn't miserable to do so - rather filled with anticipation of the adventures that awaited him beyond familiar pastures. But around the time that midwinter approached – when the days were at their shortest and most barren while the night felt like it stretched its frozen fingers out as far as it could reach – he started to secretly long for spring.

Maybe if he considered it, he could come to the conclusion that change was what he truly longed for. Standing still had never been his thing.

But for as long as he was here, he would indulge. Joxt seemed happy, for his own part, to be able to take a break from their long days of walking, hunting for food, and setting up their camp. He lounged around, moving only as the sun did, so he could always find a spot bathed in light to rest in. Snufkin had noticed he seemed to enjoy the hammock amusingly enough, but wasn't opposed to trees or just lying down in the grass. Anywhere, as long as Snufkin was near.

Joxt still refused to stray far from his side.

Snufkin wasn't sure what to think of it. He wasn't sure what to call Joxt either, with the truth revealed to him. All the elation and curiosity he had felt at the prospect of meeting his father had curled up into a tight ball and tucked away at the back of his chest, impossible to get out again.

The man he had met in the woods, back then nothing but a complete stranger. And Joxt as the person he had come to known. Neither of them was anything like the parent he had imagined in the orphanage, pulling the blankets up to cover his eyes and dreaming of what it would be like to have a family that cared for him. In a way, Joxt wasn't even his father at all.

If memories were what made a person who they were on the inside, shaped their very essence, then Joxt without his memories was nothing as The Joxter that Moominpappa kept telling him about. A mirror surface cracked, showing a similar image but one that did not hold up to any closer inspection.

Snufkin sighed under his breath, too lost in the thought to notice the way Joxt titled his head to look at him. But he noticed when Joxt grunted out a soft noise, stretched his legs, and bumped them against Snufkin's back.

They were sitting in the tall grass near the river. Snufkin's fishing rod which he had been using earlier lay abandoned at his side, as he was done using it for the day. It had been nearly a week since they arrived at the valley. Things had been peaceful and quiet.

Which only made the sadness weighing down his heart that more unbearable.

What wrong? Joxt asked. Despite their arrival and being surrounded by many others who talked to him daily, he had not picked up on using his voice himself. Moominmamma had assured Snufkin it was only a matter of time, a matter of comfort. Snufkin hoped it could be soon.

Maybe that would make telling the secret inside his chest any easier.

"Nothing..." he said. Indecision was making him tired too. Should he tell Joxt sooner rather than later? Would it matter if he did? Merely knowing about their biological relationship would not make him remember. Not when the memoirs couldn't.

Narrowed blue eyes inspected his face, searching for the telltale signs of a lie perhaps. Snufkin didn't know what Joxt could see there, but the deepening of his frown made it clear he didn't entirely believe him. Why lying?

Caught off guard by the other's bluntness, Snufkin frowned. "I'm not lying," he defended himself, though it was hard to muster the energy to be appalled by the accusation. "I'm just- you know, considering something."

Once again those eyes studied him. Joxt moved his feet, pitting them against Snufkin again before adjusting so he could sit straighter. Snufkin was reminded of the movements of a cat, pleasantly stretching itself out against its owner's body. They still slept in the tent together, just the same. Curled up close. Knowing who Joxt was didn't have to change everything about them, Snufkin had decided.

Young white one? Joxt inquired.

Taking a moment to connect the dots since these were three gestures Joxt had never combined before, Snufkin traced his palm along the grass. His fingertips brushed a flower, the petal silky and soft. "You mean Moomintroll?" he asked eventually, concluding it to be the only possible thing that made sense. Joxt had not taken to using the names of the residents of the valley yet. "What about him?"

A thin grin spread across Joxt's lips. You consider tell him?

Completely lost on the strange direction the conversation had taken, Snufkin blinked to show his confusion. "Tell him what?"

Instead of answering, the shit-eating grin on Joxt's face only grew wider. Again he shifted his body, but to pull back this time. Sitting up straight, he pointed at Snufkin's hat. He took it off to see what Joxt meant, only to notice the flower crown Moomin had given him earlier that day at the river was still securely around it. It had become a bit of a tradition by now, and Moomin was very good at braiding the stems tightly together. His crowns hardly ever fell apart and fit nicely on Snufkin's hat.

Turning the hat over in his hands, a dawning realization was upon him, but Snufkin didn't quite want to believe that was what Joxt meant. "I got it as a gift."

Tell him, Joxt repeated. Not a question this time.

In another situation, Snufkin might have found humor in how gravely his words had been mistaken. Here he was debating on one of the most confusing choices he'd ever had to make, one that could shake both his own world and Joxt's completely, and change everything that had happened between them this winter.

And here Joxt was, thinking it wasn't about him at all.

"There's nothing to say," Snufkin said, putting the hat back on. His fingers played with the petals, pulling one from the stem nervously. He crushed it in his hand. "Why would you think that?"

Growing tired of the evasiveness of the conversation, Joxt flicked his ear. Snufkin pulled back with a yelp. "Wha-" but was interrupted by Joxt snatching the hat back off his head. He plucked the flower crown off carefully.

Pointing at the yellow daffodils, he signed: ignored love. Snufkin drew his brow together.

"Unrequited, not ignored," he said. He had known the meaning of flower language for ages, but it wasn't an easy word, let alone one they had thought to learn a gesture for.

Then Joxt indicated the lilies. Happiness returned.

"Yes, I know what they mean-" Snufkin couldn't help it if he sounded a bit terse. "They also mean a lot of other things. It's not like that. They're just flowers."

Joxter snorted as if to say 'are they'. He gave Snufkin his hat back. His face softened as he watched him handle the crown. Do you love him?

Snufkin would firmly refuse to answer that, but the stubborn blush that crept on his face must have been answer enough. The smirk returned to Joxt's lips but it was not so much in jest anymore. Shaking his head, Snufkin sighed again. This was exactly the kind of discussion one might expect to have with their father – a thought which made him simultaneously excitable and gloomy. What a frivolous interpunction.

"I don't know," he said. "Or well, I do know. I just don't know whether to say." His heart shriveled at the words, a knowledge long since come to unfolding in his head but so very different when spoken out loud. "I don't know what would happen."

Snufkin couldn't stand the thought of speaking those words as giving them power. Of course, he loved Moomintroll, more than anybody else in this world really. And of course, he knew Moomintroll was endlessly devoted to him. He enjoyed the time they spend together, the things Moomin said, and the wonders he expressed.

Despite all that, Snufkin couldn't dare to say it out loud for fear that it would change the tie already stretched between them.

Joxt tapped his shoulder to shake him from his thoughts, a more gentle way to acquire his attention. The grin had died down to a more subdued smile, eons better than the expressionless face Snufkin was glad to see slowly transformed into a more natural state over the course of their time together.

If you need say something, Joxt told him seriously. Just say. Before too late.

It might be the most words he had ever strung together. Which meant Snufkin had to give them due consideration, though he couldn't overlook how relevant they were to his current dilemma regarding Joxt without the subject of his problem even realizing it. "What if you're afraid that saying something will cause more problems than it will solve," he said idly – more to himself than to the man beside him.

The beginning of the year's journey was already fading to obscurity in his mind, as it was prone to do once he returned to the valley. How many autumns had he left, how many winters had he spent traveling? Doing it for the experiences of it, not any personal gain or material matters meant sometimes it blurred together. But now Snufkin felt acutely how important these memories were.

For going forward, they would be the first real memories he had of his father.

Fix, was all Joxt added to that. If problem, you need fix.

Snufkin stared at the way the grass bent beneath the force of the wind, moving unevenly. When had he learned to have such a hard time believing in simple solutions?

"We'll see. I can't work on it until we solve your problems first." He tried to make it sound lighthearted, but Joxt's frown told him it hadn't entirely been the wanted answer.

"The boat, now the boat... I always seem to forget its name. You would have known, dear fellow, if you had your memories. You always laughed at how incredibly silly it was."

Snufkin tuned out Moominpappa's continued reading, the slow turning of pages of paper. Moomin was listening to the story as well, curled up on the couch while Joxt was sitting rather stiffly on the ground. But Mamma and Snufkin were in the kitchen again. He reminded himself to think of a way to show his gratitude for all her help later.

"I don't see the point of telling him," he said to her, seamlessly picking up on a conversation that had started days ago. "Unless we can be certain it will make him remember."

"And you won't know until you tell him," Moominmamma said patiently.

Little My poked her head out of the nearest tea kettle, the top falling off onto the counter. "How bout you bash him in the head again? Always works in the books-" Moominmamma replaced the top of the tea kettle without missing a beat, drowning out My's annoyed grumble in response to being so rudely cut off. She sprung out of the kettle a moment later, brushing strands of fiery red hair out of her eyes. "I'm just saying you won't know before you try it." Her feet dangled off the counter when she sat down. "But that goes for telling him too then."

Snufkin glanced at her. "But what if it only makes things worse?"

Bending down to open the oven, Moominmamma retrieved the berry scones she was making. A delicious scent filled the kitchen. "Then you deal with whatever could be worse when it arrives."

"How strange," Snufkin said. "You are the second person to tell me such a thing today."

As Mamma put the tray on the table, Little My had already jumped off the counter and onto a chair to make a grab for the sweet treats. Mamma swatted her hand away easily. "Then it has to be sound advice. Great minds think alike," she said.

"But fools rarely differ," My continued in a sing-song voice, jumping around so much the chair nearly fell over.

Mamma ignored her antics. "For now, I think it will suffice to have some afternoon tea out on the patio. After such a harsh winter, it's only fair we get to enjoy the good weather."

They walked into the other room, where Pappa was still reading out of his memoirs, seemingly undeterred by the fact that his audience had shrunken to just one member. Moomin was still curled up listening intently, but Joxt was nowhere in sight.

"Where's Joxt?" Snufkin asked.

Moominpappa looked up from his pages, only now noticing the absence of such a vital part of the reason they were reading his book to begin with was missing. He probably had been so enthralled in his own writing he hadn't noticed.

"He went outside just a few minutes ago," Moomin answered instead.

Snufkin furrowed his brown, unsure what the sudden uneasy feeling in his gut could mean. "I'll go get him."

But when he opened the door and turned to see the hammock empty, that unease blossomed into full-blown panic. "Joxt?!" Snufkin called out, sounding just a tad higher pitched than he had hoped. Only silence answered his plea. "Joxt, where did you run off to?"

Snufkin's head swung around, taking in the surroundings of the house, the downward slope that led towards the wooden bridge and the hills beyond. He could make out the shape of his tent in the distance, the pale yellow standing out against the commencing buds of spring. But the flaps hung still and undisturbed, and regardless he couldn't see why Joxt would return there without warning.

"Joxt!" His voice grew more frantic with every try, and then his legs were carrying him down the hill, nearly tripping over his own feet. It had been months since the other man had ever been somewhere he couldn't immediately find him.

And never before had Snufkin wanted so badly to hear Joxt's voice return his call.

Chapter Text

What had set him running?

There was something so fragile about hope, about love. And if he held it too tightly he just might break it. Maybe that was what had made him scared – the valley and the grass, the wind rustling his hair. The water flowed in his veins and the sunset filled his lungs and at that moment, Joxter had become frightened.

At first, he had thought all that mattered was finding what he had lost.

Then he had accepted that whether or not lost things could be regained, he could build anew.

At last, he had realized that if the first heart could be ripped away, so could the second.

And so he had darted. He had started walking, one foot in front of the other, feeling the emptiness grow with each step. He had wanted to shed it all, tear the skin of his flesh if it could make the pain any less. More than fleetingly, he had wondered if this was the price of happiness.

To always be scared you could lose it again.

The valley stretched behind him, transient sunlight faded with time and Joxter wanted to convince himself he could forget that, forget the feeling of belonging he had felt there at the boy's side. If he just left and went away far enough, he could wipe it out of his memory again; he wouldn't have to worry about having the boy be hurt ever again.

He wouldn't have to worry about if he deserved to get back that which he had allowed to be taken by cruel fate.

And instead, live with his own pain, alone. As he had been for all this time.

He ran through the forest alone.

Moomintroll and the others must have noticed what was wrong by now, must have followed him outside. But none of them were as fast as Snufkin, as agile in jumping over logs and crossing through the undergrowth. Waiting for them was not on his mind, only finding Joxt was.

Snufkin wanted to know why he left.

It burned inside his chest, curiosity renewed. All of a sudden Snufkin had come to realize that he didn't care whether Joxt was the Joxter or his father or perhaps neither. Joxt was still Joxt, and that was all Snufkin wanted him to be.

The man he had met on the road, wounded and bleeding. Sickly and starved. The man he had felt an unusual kinship with as they traveled together, talked with about the journey as they made it. Ran with from the overseer at the orchard. A friend Snufkin could trust.

He didn't want Joxt to leave without a word, especially not if it was over a misunderstanding.

The dusk was holding the valley in its grip, the sun unable to shake the winter's dark just yet to shed longer light on the world. Saturation had faded and left the forest dark and with sharp shadows stretching in erratic directions. Snufkin had to blink to adjust his sight, but it was still easy enough to see with his adapted eyes. He couldn't go back until he had found Joxt.

But where would he be?

Snufkin ran aimlessly at first, the terror seizing his heart had made it hard to think. Then the thought struck him – and as senseless as it was there would be no better chance. He kept running until the ground grew softer beneath him, pulling at his boots. The air smelled moist, like the wet plants that grew along the riverbank.

In the end, Snufkin had made it to the river again.

"Joxt!" he called once more, hopelessly. His throat hurt from how many times he had called that name, and by then he was growing weary of his chances of getting an answer.

Maybe Joxt didn't want to be found. Maybe he had left because he had realized that staying in the valley wasn't what he had wanted after all. Or he wanted to go searching for his lost past alone; If only Snufkin had told him sooner-

His own recklessness nearly caused him to run right into the person he had been so desperately searching for. Joxt caught him before he could make them both tumble onto the ground, his hands on Snufkin's elbows to steady him. His face was pale, there was mud on his hands. Relief flooded Snufkin's being.

"Joxt!" His breathlessness made it hard to speak.

"Snufkin."

Any other thoughts vanished at the sound of that voice.

"W-what?"

Joxt's eyes searched his face, he swallowed down some uncomfortable expression and forced himself to talk again, though it took obvious effort. "You... hurt?" Joxt was worried about him.

His hands were still on his elbows and Snufkin was trembling. He wasn't cold but he just couldn't stop shaking all the same. "No, I'm fine. I- I was looking for you. I thought you had left."

Staring at the ground, Joxt shook his head. Snufkin followed his gaze and saw the furrows of digging in the damp earth. Joxt had been searching again; without Snufkin.

"Wanted to," Joxt explained, his hoarseness fading with every word. Snufkin hated how familiar it sounded, how close he had been all along. He didn't remember his parents' faces, didn't remember the river or the basket. But he remembers the soothing melody of a song sung in that voice, about bows and small beasts. "Couldn't."

"Why?" Snufkin didn't know if he was asking why Joxt had tried to leave or why he couldn't do so in the end.

The smile that played along Joxt's lips was eerily familiar. "Would be... sad," he decided.

Snufkin wanted to smile too, but he couldn't. "It would be very sad. I haven't gotten to tell you the most important thing yet."

He took a step back and Joxt's hands fell to his sides. The dusk reminded Snufkin of when they met, the way the forest had come alive with fiery colors at the dawn of winter. The tree had been hollow, hiding Joxt from sight and Snufkin had helped because the powerlessness of others is the most heartbreaking thing in the world. He had wanted to grant Joxt a freedom he treasured more than anything else.

He had never expected there could be so much more to give him.

His own cowardice had almost taken the opportunity from Snufkin to get back what they both needed. But he couldn't decide on how Joxt would react anymore – or how he wanted Joxt to react. He had to wait and see for himself.

He lifted his hand to use the sign language they had taught themselves. There was a power in words when spoken out loud. But in silence your secrets were safe.

My parents, Snufkin started. I told you they... left me. But I actually think they lost me. Lost me at the river.

That was probably all Joxt needed to realize what he was implying, but somehow when Snufkin had started, he couldn't stop as easily. It was just the two of them and the twilight, fireflies floating above the river shattering their reflection and it felt safe to say it now. If he didn't, Snufkin might never build up the courage again.

I always believed they abandoned me. But I was wrong. I think I just told myself that because it was easier, he signed. Because that hurt less than it would have thinking of it as an accident and them not being able to find me. Them missing me as much as I missed them.

There was more he could say – wanted to say – but it was smothered by Joxt when he took a step forward and pulled Snufkin into the tightest embrace he had ever experienced. He thought Moomin squeezed the breath out of him every spring, it was nothing compared to the way his father held him after this confession.

Joxt wasn't sobbing audibly, but Snufkin could feel the jerked movements of his chests and the tears landing against his hair. Suddenly he didn't know anymore why he had been scared in the first place.

"I... did missed you," Joxt said. He laughed, deep and short-winded. Everything Snufkin ever wanted to hear. When he was lying awake in the orphanage, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering what it would be like to feel loved by a parent, this is what he'd imagined.

"I missed you too."

In the end, they had both found what they were searching for.

That year the summer in the valley was even lovelier than usual, just as Snufkin had predicted.

Harsher winter colds meant better sunlight days, as the witches of old would have said. And mother nature was more than intent on making up for the abnormal weather she had cursed them with earlier in the year. There was hardly any need to stay inside and they could spend their days on the river bank, fishing and playing songs.

Joxt preferred it that way. He did not scorn the inside of the Moominhouse as much as he did at the beginning, but it was clear to tell he would still prefer the comfort of being outside. Joxt napped in the hammock, or rocked in it while Moominpappa read from his memoirs - and his other books too because he said Joxt was a fine listener when he wanted to be.

Joxt's memories had not returned to him. Perhaps they both had to find peace with the fact that they never would. But Snufkin was sure there were plenty of new ones to be made together.

Throughout the summer their adventures were as joyful as ever. Moomin accompanied them often, and sometimes their other friends too. Little My had a startling habit of getting on Joxt's nerves very easily, but she kept repeating that once her mother got here he would see.

Snufkin wasn't sure what would happen, but he was sure it was going to be quite interesting.

They visited the beach and the islands. Moominpappa told them about the boat a thousandfold over while they sat on the sand, warming their hands by the campfire. They climbed the lonely mountain – something Snufkin had vowed to himself he wouldn't do again anytime soon, though the exhausting trek was worth it when he saw Joxt's amazed expression at the view from the top.

But today they had stayed in the valley, near the river. Moomin had joined them, as he often did, and the water was clear as it trickled by their feet. Snufkin had given up on fishing hours ago, they would have dinner on the porch. Moominmamma loved for them to come over. The leaves were slowly starting to change colors.

"Will Joxt go with you when autumn comes?" Moomin asked. He was braiding flower crowns again. Snufkin knew he did that when he was nervous too.

"Probably," he answered, then looked at Joxt who was lying in the sun dozing with his eyes closed. "Will you?"

Joxt nodded at him. Even though he had regained use of his voice, he didn't speak as often. And usually when Snufkin and him were along.

"There are lots of places we could go to," Snufkin said with a smile. "I want to show you where I grew up, where I've been."

Joxt smiled too. I'd like that, he said.

"But then you'll both come back for spring, right?" Moomin said anxiously. Some fear had crept into his voice, as if he thought that now that Snufkin and the Joxter had found each other, Snufkin wouldn't come back to the valley anymore.

Snufkin patted his arm to reassure him. "Naturally. We couldn't miss summer in the valley for the world."

"We'll... come back," Joxt said. The roughness of his voice had faded quietly, it had turned smooth and dark like the river's flow. "Always come back... until he tells you... important thing too." His sharp canines glinted in the sun when he grinned freely.

Moomin frowned, confused. "Tell me what important thing?"

Snufkin felt the heat on his cheeks. shut up, he signed quickly.

I'm helping, Joxt told him seriously. Being an encouraging father.

Snufkin sighed. No, you're being terrible.

"What are you saying?" Moomin whined. He had still not learned their wordless language, something Snufkin was secretly grateful for. Snufkin pulled his hat over his face, embarrassed.

"Nothing important. I'll tell you later," he said out loud. "When we leave in autumn. I'll write it in my letter."

Moomin tilted his head. "Oh, sure."

This way he had plenty of time to think about it. Joxt laughed at his flustered expression and Snufkin shot him a glare.

They had all the time in the world now.