Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” Joxter asked, though he knew Snufkin couldn’t answer, for he had yet the words to do so.

Snufkin chirped, as if he was trying to respond nonetheless, and reached up for his papa. Joxter lent him his finger and watched enamored as Snufkin wrapped his tiny paws around it best he could.

Mumriks were not known to be mighty beasts and their kit even less so, but a mumrik kit with mymble genes was quite an exceptionally pitiful sight to behold. Snufkin was just barely born in all fairness but even still, with all Joxter’s lack of knowledge regarding babies, he was sure they were normally even just a little bigger than a Hemulen’s foot. Snufkin, however, was very much not. 

It felt surreal to behold such a little creature and even more so to come to the realization that he was responsible for it. Joxter wasn’t normally one to take on responsibility, especially such important ones, and even more especially when it required a lot of work, but Snufkin was an exception to that rule. That tiny little baby meant more to him than anything, and he was certain he’d do whatever he could to make sure Snufkin would always remain safe and cared for under the watchful eyes of his father. 

It was funny, albeit a little terrifying, how things could change so drastically in a single instance. His life felt like a subtle stream, idly trickling by on a delicate, though naturally carved path, only to be diverted by the tumbling heavy rock from a hillside above. A few weeks ago, Joxter had been the same carefree mumrik he’d always been – a lazy wanderer, beholden to no one, flitting about from place to place as he was wont to do, only to happen upon the Mymble on an instinct. It was a call he simply couldn’t ignore that urged him to return to her and when he did, suddenly everything was different. To his surprise, she’d introduced him to her newest child, born alone without a litter, and curiously mumrik in nature despite his fairer than average features.

Regardless, however, of whether Snufkin looked like Joxter in the slightest, Joxter had known all the same that he was his. The second he laid eyes on the babe, it was as if a darker part of him deep inside had cleared up like the coming of a sunny day after a mighty storm, and he understood that the child Mymble was holding gently in her arms would be his entire life from then on out. It may have been an accident, and it may have been something that required more effort than he would normally care to give, but Joxter couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy being a papa. He reached out, slowly, only stopping when his unsureness decided to creep up on him, prickling his spine like he’d stepped too close to a Hattifattener.

“I want to hold him,” Joxter had asked of Mymble, though he wasn’t sure if it was in his right to phrase it in such a way to indicate his doubt on whether or not he could. He was a papa now, and Snufkin was his child, so surely he had the right to hold him?

Mymble had smiled – and oh! what a pleasant smile it had been – and handed Snufkin over with a grace that only a mother could afford. Joxter, on the other hand, nearly fumbled the poor boy, suddenly struck with the realization that, without meaning to, he could easily hurt Snufkin with but a nick of his claw or a grip that was just a little too tight for a creature so small and fragile. Mymble righted him, positioning Snufkin in the crook of Joxter’s arm so that he was cradled and safe and able to open his bright brown eyes to look up at Joxter and coo.

“He’s beautiful,” Joxter had awed, petting Snufkin’s cheek with a fondness he never thought he’d have for someone other than Mymble. Snufkin reached up, wiggling his little fingers, as if he was trying to touch Joxter’s face in turn. “And quite sweet, isn’t he?”

“He’ll cause trouble yet, I’m sure. He is yours, after all,” Mymble joked, a mild lilt in her voice and the corners of her lips upturned in jest.

Joxter laughed. “I should hope so! He’ll do well to take after his papa.”

For what a wonderful thing that would be! His Snufkin would prove a menace to even the most uptight of park keepers – of that Joxter would make sure.

That moment had been weeks ago, and now, Joxter was leaned up against a tree with Snufkin laid out on the grass in front of him, playing with his papa’s finger like it was the most interesting toy in the world. It was no question to Joxter whether Snufkin would be the traveling sort, for it would be in his nature even if he was too young to understand it yet. Remaining cooped up in a home full of little mymbles was no life for a mumrik, even one like Snufkin. Mymble wouldn’t mind – she had a horde of other children to look after already and Joxter knew she trusted him. She was one of the few people who did, though whether it was warranted or not was another thing.

“You look quite a bit like her, you know?” Joxter said, taking his finger away so that he could lift Snufkin up and hold him to the sunlight. Snufkin’s face was very much like his father’s, but the soft brown of his eyes and the auburn hue of his hair was exactly like his mother’s. He was the perfect mix of both of them – a perfect symbol of the love they shared intertwined to create such an extraordinary creature. Joxter loved Snufkin because he was Snufkin, but he also loved the idea that he was carrying around such an important part of his darling Mymble.

The initial fears he’d had when he first took Snufkin had all but withered away, and when there was no more room to be scared of hurting the poor child, then that meant the only thing left to do was revel in the miracle of it all. He pulled Snufkin to his chest and planted a kiss to the top of his head, soaking in the scent of his hair – still ladled with the smell of a newborn – and the warmth of his body as it was cradled against him. Snufkin gripped his coat with tiny fingers, clinging tightly to his father like he couldn’t bear to be separated, and that thought alone was something that filled Joxter with more love than he could hardly handle.

“Not to worry, my kit. We’ll be together until the day you get sick of me, and then perhaps even longer,” Joxter assured, standing up so that they could get moving again.

Snufkin murmured, and Joxter could almost imagine his conversation wasn’t so one sided after all. Of course Snufkin couldn’t understand him yet, but it was thrilling to think he could. And so Joxter talked, and Snufkin cooed, and the company was lively as they strode along roads and along rivers and through trees with no real destination in mind, for it was the journey that mattered the most.
 
A journey Joxter was, surprisingly, happy to not wander on alone for once.

Chapter Text

Snufkin wouldn’t sleep. They’d been traveling for almost a year and in all that time, Joxter had rarely had issues getting Snufkin to bed. But even in the unusual instance Snufkin stayed up longer than usual or woke up earlier than Joxter would’ve liked, it was still easier to deal with than whatever was going on with him now.

It was well into the night and Joxter sat perched high up in a tree, gently cradling his baby in his arms. Snufkin had fallen asleep initially that night only to wake up less than an hour later with a quiet cry and his arms up in the air like he was waiting for someone to pick him up, which Joxter did immediately. Unfortunately, Snufkin didn’t stop crying when he was held, nor when Joxter bounced him in his arms and tried to gently shush him, nor when Joxter tried to make funny faces in the hopes it would make him laugh instead.

It was only when Joxter sang an old lullaby he didn’t quite remember all the words to that Snufkin’s sobbing finally ceased. Joxter continued to hum in case the vibrations in his chest would lull Snufkin back to sleep, but no matter what else he did, it was an effort in vain. 

It had been hours since then.

Snufkin ate just before bed, so Joxter didn’t think he was hungry. He wasn’t sick either, at least Joxter didn’t think so without a fever, or a cough, or anything else to suggest such a thing. Snufkin didn’t look like he was in pain or in any more distress, as content as he seemed pressed against Joxter’s chest, and yet his eyes remained wide open.

“What are you thinking about, my little darling?” Joxter quietly asked, running a paw through Snufkin’s hair.

Snufkin made no effort to answer. He still couldn’t talk, but he would usually at least try. 

“Did you have a nightmare? Is your tummy upset?” Joxter asked.

Still, Snufkin did not stir. If it weren’t for the fact Joxter could see his eyes still open – still staring off into the distance like he was looking for something out there – then he would have thought Snufkin had finally gone back to sleep with how still and quiet he was.

“Did something spook you?” Joxter guessed, looking off in the distance to try and figure out what Snufkin was looking at. He saw nothing, however, but an endless expanse of trees and unfettered moonlight casting shadows through the leaves. 

“This would be a lot easier if you could tell me what was wrong,” Joxter muttered to himself.

It wasn’t like he’d never dealt with Snufkin’s less than desirable habits or tempers or moods. For such a young boy, Snufkin proved to be rather particular and knew exactly what he liked and what he didn’t. Joxter had gotten used to learning and accommodating those particularities as best he could, and in some ways it made him feel like he had the whole parenting thing down.

This, however, made him feel hopeless at it. He couldn’t understand why Snufkin was acting so strange and the unfamiliarity of the behavior scared him a little. He wondered if Mymble would’ve known what to do, whether instinctively or through her greater experience with children. Had Snufkin been with his mother, would she have been able to easily quell his worries and get him back to bed hours ago? Had Joxter done his son a disservice by thinking he could be as good a parent as the Mymble?

Joxter, more than anything, wanted to do right by Snufkin. In fact, Snufkin was probably the only person in Joxter’s entire life who could make him do things he didn’t always want to do, so long as he thought it was the best course of action as a father. A Joxter from a year ago never would have volunteered to stay awake to soothe someone else or wipe a runny nose or carry around a tiny, fragile little person he had to keep a careful eye on every hour of every day. He would have scoffed at anyone who’d suggest he become a father – called them fools for thinking he’d willingly drop his carefree lifestyle and subject himself to the incessant needs of infants. 

It wasn’t like he hated children – he loved them in fact – but they were a lot of work and he didn’t particularly care for it. He liked to spend time around Mymble’s children, in doses, but they were a rowdy bunch and he’d never felt it his responsibility to do more than play with them or tell them stories or sing them a tune. Anything less than fun was left to Mymble, which she seemed to prefer, and Joxter was glad she’d never expected anything like that of him. He was not the father of her other children and never would be. In fact, even with Snufkin, she probably wouldn’t have expected that of him. Joxter was sure he could’ve easily left Snufkin with his mother and disappeared without a word, and Mymble would have thought nothing of it and took full responsibility for the care of their son. Yet, despite who Joxter had been just a year prior, he couldn’t find it in himself to do that. He’d gone against everything he knew in order to be a decent father, and it might not have even been the right thing to do anyway since he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Snufkin.

“Maybe you just wanted to spend time with your papa, hm?” Joxter asked, petting Snufkin’s cheek, “Well, Papa is tired and would very much like to sleep. Let’s sleep, okay?”

It was a useless request. Snufkin finally made a small noise, though his eyes remained focused on the tree line. Joxter sighed, eyelids heavy as exhaustion washed over him. If he didn’t either do something to stay awake or get Snufkin back to sleep soon, he worried he’d drift off and leave Snufkin all alone. 

“Fine. I don’t know what’s got all your attention, but it won’t matter if we go away from it,” Joxter finally decided, tightening his grip on Snufkin with one arm and jumping out of the tree.

He didn’t want to move on just yet, but walking would at least keep him alert. His feet set a steady, though tired, pace in a random direction while the owls overhead watched on in idle curiosity at the unexpected movement. Perhaps something about the location had spooked Snufkin, and all Joxter had to do was find somewhere else for them to rest for the night. 

To his surprise, moving on was the right answer, though not for the reason he thought. Not even a full minute after he’d started walking, he heard a contented coo from Snufkin and felt him bury his face into his coat. Almost immediately after that, Joxter felt the breaths held in his palm grow steady and with a glance down at Snufkin, he found that he was fast asleep.

Joxter chuckled, amused by the ridiculousness of the whole situation despite how tiring it was on the surface.

“Are you telling me you just didn’t want to be still?” he asked aloud.

He’d been right that Snufkin would be the wandering type. He wasn’t even old enough to walk yet and was apparently already feeling that itch under his skin, urging him to roam, even if he had to have his father carry him to do so. The bounce of each of Joxter’s steps must’ve been what Snufkin had been craving, and it was such a silly yet obvious thing that Joxter wished he would’ve figured out sooner.

While Joxter was in desperate need of rest, he was still happy that it wasn’t anything serious, and he was feeling a little better about himself now that he understood what Snufkin had wanted all along. This was one malady he was sure he had more experience treating than Mymble, and Snufkin was better off for it.

Chapter Text

Snufkin was two years old now, and while Joxter loved him more than life itself, he could be rather infuriating sometimes.

“It’s just a bird, Snufkin. There are millions more of them,” Joxter said, grip tight on a frightened bird he’d managed to catch. 

It had been hours since they’d eaten breakfast, they’d run out of food, and there didn’t appear to be much to forage in the area they were in. Joxter had thought a bird would be a suitable substitute, but Snufkin apparently had different feelings about it.

Snufkin continued glaring at him, arms crossed in annoying defiance and lips out in a pout. He was barely as tall as Joxter’s knee and no more threatening than a newborn kitten, and yet Joxter felt himself give in to the scalding look nonetheless, letting go of the bird with an agitated huff. It squalled and fluttered away, and Joxter’s stomach rumbled in mocking as he watched it go. He had been looking forward to a satisfying meal, all for it to be thwarted by an overly sensitive toddler.

While frustrating, Joxter couldn’t help but find a little humor in that as well. It was strange to find himself so tightly wrapped around someone else’s finger, and such a tiny one at that.

“Fine. Then pray tell what your brilliant suggestion for supper is,” Joxter said, sternly putting his paws on his hips.

“Apples,” Snufkin said.

“And where will we get them? Do you see any apple trees around here?” Joxter asked, possibly a little more harshly than he’d meant to. 

Snufkin, unbothered by the tone, looked around for a moment before turning back to Joxter and shaking his head.

“Fish?” Snufkin tried again.

“In the middle of the woods? We’d have to find a river somewhere, and even then there might not be any fish,” Joxter informed.

Snufkin took another moment to think, but he was unable to come up with any other ideas. He shifted where he stood, pouting again when he thought there really were no other options.

“I don’t wanna eat birds,” he whimpered, gloomily staring at the ground.

Joxter sighed – stern expression leaving him immediately. He couldn’t rightfully remain angry at such a pitiful look, even if the reason for it made no sense to him. He walked over and scooped Snufkin up, hugging him close to try and cheer him back up.

“Fine, fine, we don’t have to,” Joxter relented, his want to appease his son in heavy argument with his empty stomach, “Let’s just keep going. Maybe we’ll find something along the way.”

“Like apples,” Snufkin said, nodding. Joxter smiled and nuzzled against his head, earning a giggle in response.

“Maybe.”

He put Snufkin back down. Though Snufkin was still so young, he preferred to walk more often than not and Joxter was a little happy for it. He loved holding Snufkin and feeling him nestle comfortably in his arms, but it was a lot of work to carry him long distances, especially the more he grew, so Joxter much preferred to save those moments for when they were resting instead. Snufkin still held his paw though, needing to have some kind of anchorage on his father. That, Joxter was sure, was something he would miss dearly when Snufkin decided he was too old for it.

So, they continued onward, paw in paw, as Snufkin put his legs to work with an unsurprising desire to be able to roam as he pleased.

It did make the journey incredibly slow, however.

Before Snufkin was born, Joxter would travel from place to place as easily and as quickly as a bird would fly south in the winter, but that wasn’t possible with Snufkin trailing alongside him. His legs were so small and he was overly curious about nature – continuously stopping to admire the things Joxter would rather move on from. Yes, the leaves were pretty in autumn and the way the flowers danced in the wind was cute, but it was nothing that interested Joxter in the same way it interested a child who was still so new to the world. And, normally, it wasn’t a big deal since they never really had anywhere they needed to be, but Joxter’s growling stomach was urging him to find food and the sporadic pitter-patter of the tiny feet beside him were making that a rather cumbersome task.

“Snufkin, please hurry,” Joxter urged when Snufkin stopped for the 4th time to admire a patch of wild daffodils.

“Okay.”

It lasted for all of five seconds before Snufkin stopped again to watch a squirrel gather some nuts.

“Snufkin.”

“Sorry, Papa!”

And, again, just a minute later they were stopped so Snufkin could encourage some ants scuttling along the dirt, dropping Joxter’s paw and taking the time to follow them to their anthill with mesmerized wonderment.

Joxter took a deep breath, fighting back his growing annoyance. He would just have to carry Snufkin, though neither of them were going to be happy about it. Snufkin would throw a fit at not being able to do what he wanted and Joxter was going to have to deal with a thrashing child in his arms on top of a stomach that was starting to ache from hunger.

He looked at Snufkin, considering how to go about it. Just asking would be met with a harsh “no,” and just scooping him up unexpectedly was going to make him the most upset. But it was either that or spend an eternity trying to make it from one side of a small forest to another in search of measly morsels. Joxter was sure he’d die of starvation by the time they made it through.

Then, as Snufkin sat carefully crouched over the anthill so as not to hurt it, Joxter got an idea.

“Snufkin,” he called out, lacing his voice with a dramatic amount of whining, “I’m so hungry. I fear if we don’t find food soon, I’ll have to eat you instead!”

Snufkin startled enough for his attention to be swiftly drawn away from the ants and he whirled around to face Joxter.

“No! You can’t,” Snufkin said, as matter-of-factly as his tiny voice could force.

“Couldn’t I? You’re barely bigger than a bird. I think I could do it rather easily,” Joxter insisted.

Snufkin stood, putting his hands on his hips and huffing, as if unamused by the antics, though the way his eyes narrowed told Joxter he was considering the small possibility.

“If you eat me, I’ll be sad!” Snufkin asserted.

“And I’ll be full,” Joxter retorted.
 
He crouched down on all fours and slowly stalked towards his son, tail suspended in the air as he began his hunt. Snufkin’s arms dropped and he took a wary step back, continuously glancing between Joxter and the path behind him.

“Papa! Stop!” Snufkin ordered as Joxter got closer.
 
Joxter smiled and continued his prowl, slowly inching forward with purpose.

“Come here, my Snufkin!” he called with a quick flash of his teeth.

Snufkin turned and started running away, loudly giggling as he went. Joxter smiled wider and took that as his cue to give chase, though purposefully didn’t run too fast so Snufkin wouldn’t get caught too easily. He let Snufkin get a good distance ahead, almost out of sight, before he finally sped up, effortlessly catching up and snatching the back of Snufkin’s smock in between his teeth. Then, to try and make as much of a stride as possible in their little game, Joxter kept running as fast as he could with a laughing child dangling from his mouth.

He reached the edge of the forest and found a meadow with an orchard on the other side of it. Relieved by the sight, Joxter finally let Snufkin go before leaning down and pretending to take bites all over.

“No, Papa! I’m not food!” Snufkin giggled, trying to push his face away.

“Are you sure?” Joxter asked, picking up Snufkin’s paw and chomping lightly on a finger. He made an expression like he was considering the taste before deciding it wasn’t to his liking.

“Yes!”

“Well, I suppose if you’re sure,” Joxter huffed, standing up and helping Snufkin back to his feet, “I do think we need food though. If you’re not food, then do you see anything that is?”

Snufkin looked around at where they’d ended up, smiling wide and eyes brightening as he pointed to the orchard and said, “There! Look! Apples!”

Joxter narrowed his eyes and gazed around, humming in search.

“Over there, Papa!” Snufkin said again, pointing harder.

Joxter followed Snufkin’s finger and gasped.

“Wow! You’re right! What would I have done without your sharp eyes to spot that for me?

Thankfully, at the prospect of eating, Snufkin’s strides towards the apple orchard went a lot faster than they had in the forest. Joxter led him by the paw until they reached the edge and then let him run off ahead to try and jump at the lowest hanging apples. He still wasn’t good at climbing trees, but Joxter was sure he’d become a pro at it once he was bigger.

Joxter, in the meantime, grabbed an apple for himself and lounged at the base of one of the trees to eat. As much as he would’ve loved some meat, a nice, fresh apple still tasted wonderful on his tongue during such a humid day. He could hear Snufkin’s tiny footsteps as they wandered around – occasionally heard him grunt when he’d jump for an apple and his huffs when he couldn’t reach them. There were plenty that had fallen to the ground if he was so inclined just to eat them, but Joxter assumed he wanted to earn it for himself. It wasn’t an attitude Joxter quite understood, especially when there were simpler options that required no work at all, but if that was what Snufkin wanted, then that was what Snufkin would do. 

Joxter had finished his first apple and started biting on another when he began hearing a strange whacking sound against the leaves, accompanied by more grunts and the sounds of apples falling to the earth. After a few more minutes, Snufkin finally returned with a few apples cradled in his smock and a sign over his shoulder dragging a trail in the dirt behind him.

“I got lots!” Snufkin triumphantly announced, letting the apples drop to the ground.

Curious, Joxter reached over and took the sign from Snufkin.

“’No trespassing.’ Huh.”

Then he tossed it aside and picked up one of Snufkin’s apples to inspect it.

“You got some big ones alright! Smart idea to knock ‘em down,” Joxter praised. 

Snufkin’s face lit up and he eagerly began eating.

Joxter, admittedly, wasn’t the most knowledgeable about children, but he liked to think Snufkin was very capable for his age. He still needed help with a lot of things, but if he could do it on his own he would and even if he couldn’t, he’d fight to figure out some way to get it done regardless. His natural curiosity combined with his eagerness to be independent made for a boy who could pick up on new things as easily as if they were part of his nature. Joxter was proud of his son, and was sure that pride would only grow as Snufkin did. 

Snufkin had only taken a few bites of his apple when Joxter’s ears picked up the faint sounds of footsteps running towards them. He huffed at the interruption and hurriedly stuffed a few apples in his pack before picking up Snufkin.

Before Snufkin could protest, Joxter quickly said, “Listen. You hear him?”

The footsteps were getting closer and Snufkin’s eyes widened when he understood what Joxter meant. Just before Joxter dashed off, the groundskeeper spotted them and began yelling, much to Snufkin’s amusement as he urged his father to start moving with eager excitement.

“Go! Go!”

There were only two times Snufkin tolerated being carried: During games and when they were on the run from authority figures.

“Hey! Scoundrels! Get back here!” 

They ran through the orchard with the groundskeeper on their heels. Snufkin lazily clung to Joxter’s shoulder, still munching on his apple, watching the groundskeeper in amusement. Joxter could still hear the man yelling at them, though the words themselves were drowned out by the sounds of munching and the occasional laugh beside his ear when the groundskeeper did something Snufkin found especially funny.

“Faster, Daddy!” he giggled, patting Joxter’s shoulder with his half-eaten apple, “He’ll catch you!”

Joxter laughed at the absurdity of the statement but sped up nonetheless, sprinting across the meadow, ducking into the trees, and then hurriedly pulling himself and Snufkin up into the branches as high up as he could manage before the groundskeeper finally caught up, looking around the woods but no longer seeing or hearing them anywhere. Snufkin was still holding back giggles, and Joxter kept having to shush him before he got them both caught.

The groundskeeper scratched his head before giving up with a huff, and Joxter waited a few minutes until after he’d left before dropping back out of the tree and putting Snufkin down.

“You get any bigger and I’ll make you start running on your own,” Joxter said with a huff, stretching his arms.
 
“What if they get me?” Snufkin asked, tossing his apple core away.

“Well,” Joxter said as he took Snufkin’s paw so they could get moving again, “Then I suppose that’ll be the perfect time to teach you how to break out of jail.”

Chapter Text

“Papa?”

Joxter lazily opened one eye to look at his son, nap immediately forgotten at the concerned etchings of Snufkin’s expression.

“Yes?” Joxter asked.

“I saw a ghost.”

“Did you now?” Joxter asked, hoping Snufkin had been mistaken. He wasn’t a stranger to dealing with ghosts and he’d rather not repeat the experience. They were so annoying.

Snufkin nodded and Joxter sighed, stretching and standing up. If there was a ghost around, he wanted to get as far away as possible before it noticed they were there and tried to bother them. A decent nap would be impossible with a wailing, chain-rattling specter hovering over their heads.

“Let’s go then,” he said, taking Snufkin’s paw.

Snufkin wasn’t scared of ghosts, but he seemed just as eager to be away from it nonetheless. He easily let Joxter pull him along, though not without looking back a few times in the direction the ghost must’ve been as if still fighting off a natural curiosity despite his overall uneasiness.  

It was unfortunate. They’d spent all that time scaling the mountain only to just come out on the other side and find the perfect place to rest – with a stream nearby and a bright patch of sunlight filtering in through the leaves where they could lay and soak in the warmth. Leave it to a ghost to come bumbling around and ruin Joxter’s chance for a nap. Typical.

Though… it was odd. It was the middle of the evening and still light outside, so to have a ghost wandering around the woods was a bit unexpected. They weren’t likely to find many frightened souls that time of day who would scare easily without a cover of darkness overhead.

Joxter stopped and decided to listen closely. Snufkin was smart for a three-year-old and could identify creatures easily enough, but if it happened to be one he hadn’t encountered before, then it wasn’t impossible he’d just gotten confused. Joxter’s ear twitched, picking up nothing but the sound of leaves rustling in the wind for a few seconds until he finally heard it – the frantic pacing of uncoordinated footsteps stumbling through the woods. Ghosts didn’t have footsteps.

“That’s not a ghost,” Joxter mentioned, turning around to better face the sound as he tried to discern what creature it could’ve been instead, “What made you think it was?”

“It was white,” Snufkin explained.

Something white that wasn’t a ghost… It could’ve been a number of things. The footsteps continued on for a few seconds, gradually getting closer, before another sound broke through the trees and startled the both of them with the unexpectedness of it.

“Oh! It’s crying,” Snufkin observed.

It wasn’t really Joxter’s problem to deal with the incessant sobbing of some random person and he was just as eager to leave as he was when he thought it was a ghost, but Snufkin, for some reason or other, was a far more caring creature than he was. He pulled on Joxter’s paw and forced him towards the crying, and Joxter only sighed and began to mourn the relaxing evening he’d planned for himself at the likelihood of trouble.

Snufkin dragged Joxter all the way to where the sound was before letting go and peeking around a tree to observe whatever creature it was. Joxter, instead, took to showing himself immediately, stepping out of the tree line and crouching down in front of the young moomin that sat sobbing in the grass.

The child hadn’t noticed Joxter at all until he fully sat down in front of it, crossing his legs and cocking his head in question. The child startled at the movement and looked up, eyes puffy and red and looking for all the world like one of the most pitiful little beasts Joxter had ever seen.

“Are you lost?” Joxter asked.

The moomin nodded, sniffling.

“I chased a butterfly and now Mama and Papa are gone,” he explained.

“How unfortunate.”

Joxter really didn’t want to deal with this. The only kid he was responsible for was his own and he didn’t enjoy the idea of willingly taking on another just because it had wandered away from its own parents.  However, he could see Snufkin peeking curiously out from behind the tree still and just knew he wasn’t going to hear the end of it if he left and pretended he hadn’t seen anything. So, his best bet was to find the kid’s parents as quickly as possible and be done with it. They couldn’t have been far, so hopefully it would take almost no time at all.

“We’ll help you find them. Sound good?” Joxter asked as he stood back up and offered a paw to Moomin.

“Thank you,” Moomin quietly said, accepting the paw.

It was then Moomin seemed to pick up on the “we” part of that statement, giving Joxter a strange look before glancing around to spot who “we” was meant to be.

“Snufkin, come out. It’s alright,” Joxter said, ushering Snufkin over.

Snufkin wasn’t shy by any means, and yet the hesitance he displayed as he stepped out and slowly made his way over might have suggested just that. He’d never seen a moomin before, but it wasn’t like they were particularly interesting creatures. Joxter knew for a fact Snufkin had seen stranger things and remained unfazed.

Snufkin and Moomin were next to each other now, staring at each other in equal parts curiosity. It was then that it finally hit Joxter that it wasn’t the fact it was a moomin that had Snufkin so enthralled, but rather the fact it was a child, and one so close in age to him at that. They’d seen other children on their travels of course, but they’d never really interacted with them at all.

“Let’s go. You two can make friends while we search,” Joxter insisted with a smile.

At least they could keep each other entertained for the time being so Joxter could focus on spotting the parents. He walked ahead, idly listening to Moomin as he chatted Snufkin’s ear off with a multitude of questions and stories and whatever else his little brain could think of to say to fill the silence. Snufkin rarely responded verbally, but Moomin didn’t seem bothered at all by the lack of real conversation. 

It kind of reminded Joxter of the moomin he knew. That moomin was quite a talker, chatting away about whatever nonsense regardless of whether Joxter was actually listening. That was the thing about moomins: They could never seem to tolerate silence of any kind. Had Snufkin not been clearly paying attention to this baby moomin talk the whole time, Joxter might have assumed that moomins as a whole just liked hearing themselves more than they cared about the substance of a conversation. Though… he supposed he still couldn’t rule that out entirely.

“Do you know what direction you ran from?” Joxter stopped to ask Moomin when he didn’t immediately see anyone.

Moomin shuffled uncomfortably and abashedly shook his head.

“There was a party…” he said.

“A party?”

They were in the middle of the woods and there were no sounds of music, nor conversation, nor any people at all besides themselves. Just how far off had this moomin wandered?

“Were you in a town?” Joxter asked.

“We were at Mrs. Fillyjonk’s house.”

That told Joxter absolutely nothing.

“How long were you chasing that butterfly?”

“I don’t know. A long time, I think.”

Joxter just barely held back his annoyed groan. Either moomins as a species were all rather difficult creatures, or they weren’t and this particular moomin just happened to take a lot after his father – or at least the father Joxter was growing increasingly suspicious was his.

The only upside was that he highly doubted Moomin accidentally wandered over the mountain, meaning his parents must have been in the valley somewhere. The problem was that it was a rather large valley and the sun was starting to go down, and Joxter didn’t miss the way both children’s steps were growing increasingly slow the darker it got. He decided to pick Moomin up and carry him for a ways, offering the same to Snufkin only for the offer to be declined. Despite how tired he clearly was, he was still adamant about walking on his own and so Joxter left him be.

Moomin was slightly bigger than Snufkin, but thankfully not much heavier. He snuggled up against Joxter and closed his eyes, eventually falling asleep by the time the sun managed to fully go down. The moon now hung overhead and the sounds of crickets filled the night, and Joxter was sure any party hosted by a fillyjonk would have ended by now.

“Are you sure you don’t want carried?” Joxter asked again when Snufkin started to fall behind.

Snufkin nodded, eyes drooping. Joxter sighed, took a quick glance at the sleeping moomin in his arms and then back at Snufkin and finally stopped walking. Snufkin needed sleep and was in too fussy of a mood to compromise, so Joxter decided to set up camp for now. Moomin would just have to wait until morning to be reunited with his parents because continuing the search with two exhausted children slowing him down would quickly grate on Joxter’s nerves and he much preferred to avoid that. 
 
He put Moomin down briefly so that he could set up the tent before carefully placing him inside, somehow without waking him during any of it. Snufkin crawled in after and cuddled up next to Moomin and Joxter covered them both with a blanket. When the children were all taken care of, he pulled himself up into a tree and settled on a branch overhanging the tent, letting himself drift off to pass the night away.

By the time he woke up again in the morning, Snufkin and Moomin were already awake. He could hear them playing some kind of game down below, giggling as they chased each other around in circles. They looked like they were having fun, and so Joxter figured he could rest for a few minutes more before they set off again on the search for Moomin’s parents. He closed his eyes again, tiredly listening to the soft breeze and the sounds of laughter as he willed himself to fall back asleep. He got close – close enough for all sound to slowly trickle out until the world was silent once more, up until that peaceful silence was disturbed by the distant sound of yelling. How characteristic of a moomin.

“Moomintroll! Moomintroll, where are you?”

Joxter cracked open his eyes again – narrowed in annoyance at the shrill sound against his eardrums. Moomin and Snufkin heard it too and stopped playing, and when the sound got close enough for his less sensitive ears to recognize the voice, Moomin perked up and yelled back, “Papa! Papa I’m over here!”

Joxter watched in silence from his perch as a very familiar moomin paced quickly into view.

“Moomintroll, there you are! You’ve worried your poor mother quite a bit wandering off like that,” Moominpappa scolded.

Then, Moominpappa realized his son was not alone – eyes darting over to Snufkin in surprise.

“Oh! And who’s this?” Moominpappa asked.

“This is my friend, Snufkin!” Moomintroll happily said, grabbing Snufkin’s arm and pulling him closer, “His papa was helping me find you!”

Joxter quietly moved from branch to branch until he was on the one directly above Moominpappa, unnoticed by anyone on the ground below. He lazily lied down on his stomach to continue watching the scene from that new angle.

“I see…” he heard Moominpappa slowly say, still looking over Snufkin with a curious glint in his eye, though no viable recognition as far as Joxter could tell. Moominpappa must’ve had the feeling Snufkin looked familiar; there was no doubt about that. Joxter could swear if he looked hard enough, he could see the smoke tumbling out of Moominpappa’s ears while he tried to piece together why he was seeing a ghost in a strange child’s face.

It took a minute, but he figured it out eventually. When the realization hit him, his eyes brightened and his posture straightened, and Joxter could hear the way his voice inflected more upwards than before when he asked Snufkin, “And where is your father?”

Snufkin looked up at the branch Joxter had been occupying before, only to find it empty. Unbothered by the missing presence, he simply shrugged at Moominpappa. Moominpappa frowned and began looking over the area, gaze directed forward the entirety of his search, but when he didn’t find what he was looking for, his shoulders slouched and he sent Snufkin a sorry glance. Joxter saw his hesitant half-step like he was about to lead the boys away and embark on a new search entirely, and it was amusing he wanted to put in the effort to begin with. Joxter had to wonder if it was more for his sake or Snufkin’s.

Regardless, it would be a fruitless journey and Joxter decided it was about time he make his presence known before his son got accidentally kidnapped.

“Well, he couldn’t have disappeared,” Moominpappa mentioned, though he sounded unsure, “He must be around here somewhere…”

“All that time of knowing me, and it didn’t occur to you to look up,” Joxter jested.

Moominpappa startled and looked up at him. There was an undeniable hint of delight in his eyes before he swept it away and huffed.

“Joxter! How long have you been there?” Moominpappa asked.

“The whole time,” Joxter answered honestly, yawning, “You disturbed my nap.”

“Oh, well, my apologies,” Moominpappa sarcastically said with an eye roll.

Moominpappa was unable to keep up the annoyed façade any longer and brightened up once more.

“Anyhow, it’s good to see you, old friend,” Moominpappa earnestly said.

“I’d say the same if your little one didn’t make me a father of two for a night,” Joxter complained, letting one arm hang limply over the branch.

“What can I say: He’s got that adventurer’s spirit in him, that’s for sure!” Moominpappa chuckled with a proud expression directed at Moomintroll. Then, with a cough, he added, “Thank you however, for making sure he was alright.”

Moominpappa looked over to Snufkin, then back to Joxter as he said, “Though, might I add: I can’t say I ever expected you to be a father of one.” 

Joxter shrugged. “Carelessness has its consequences, I suppose.”

“Right,” Moominpappa slowly said, clearly not liking that response at all. He gave Snufkin a strange look while he hesitated on his next statement, before finally deciding to say it anyway, though almost in a whisper like Snufkin wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Is it… is it a bad consequence? I know how much work kids can be.”

Joxter smiled, which seemed to only make Moominpappa even more uncomfortable. Joxter, of course, knew how he wanted to answer the question, but took a moment to respond nonetheless if only because it was amusing to watch Moominpappa squirm in uncertainty. It almost felt like a small bit of payback for losing his child and making Joxter deal with it. Joxter carefully watched as Moominpappa’s eyes kept wandering away from his in anxiousness; his feet shifting weight between them as he waited for Joxter to say something. Then, when Joxter was satisfied and felt it right to finally take pity, he spoke again.

“Unexpected, but not bad,” Joxter said, eyes softening with a glance to Snufkin. Moominpappa relaxed at the answer and sighed in relief.

How curious. What would Moominpappa have done had the answer been anything different?

“Well, I should be getting Moomintroll home. Moominmamma is cooking breakfast and expects us to return soon,” Moominpappa said, ushering Moomintroll over to him.

“Bye, Snufkin!” Moomintroll loudly said, waving to Snufkin as he waddled up next to his father. 

“Bye, Moomintroll,” Snufkin said, waving back, voice much quieter than Moomintroll’s had been.

“Oh, Joxter!” Moominpappa hurriedly said, taking his son’s paw and beginning to walk away, “Just so you know, our house is the tall blue one this way. Under no circumstances are you and Snufkin allowed to join us for breakfast, do you understand? In fact, we will be promptly locking our door as soon as we return so as to not be disturbed!”

Joxter didn’t respond – only followed the moomins with his eyes as they left. Once they were out of sight, Snufkin looked up at Joxter and asked, “Are we going for breakfast?”

Joxter contemplated just continuing to lay on that branch and falling asleep with how comfy he was, but there was a small ache forming in his stomach and he knew Snufkin was probably feeling it as well.

“Eating food someone else already made sounds like a lot less work than fishing, don’t you think?” Joxter asked in answer.

Snufkin didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Joxter yawned and stretched before tiredly swinging off his branch and landing on his feet in front of Snufkin. They worked together to take down the tent and stuff it back in Joxter’s pack before heading off into the direction of the house.

Chapter Text

When Joxter and Snufkin arrived at the house, the door was certainly locked just as Moominpappa had said it would be. The key hanging next to it kind of destroyed the point though.

“He could’ve tried a little harder,” Joxter muttered, shaking his head.

He supposed it didn’t matter much. He was already there and wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for an effortless meal. Even still, the door was expected of him and he didn’t like that, so he ignored it completely to find a window on the other side of the house instead. Sliding it open, he helped Snufkin through it before going in himself, landing on the other side in the moomins’ kitchen. He could hear chatter in the room adjacent and ushered Snufkin in that direction.

Moominmamma noticed them immediately, looking up from her plate of pancakes to greet them with a smile. There were two extra plates of pancakes and jam already prepared for them, and Snufkin eagerly took the seat next to Moomintroll while Joxter took the one on the other side of the table next to Moominpappa, who wasn’t paying attention. He was looking towards the front door with a concentrated gaze, fingers tapping along the table in anticipation.

“Waiting for someone?” Joxter asked.

Moominpappa jumped so hard he hit the table and nearly upended it. 

“Wha- How- When-!?“ Moominpappa spluttered before forcing himself to calm down with a breath.

“Would you like some tea?” Moominmamma asked Joxter, completely unfazed.

Joxter smiled and nodded and Moominmamma poured him a cup before offering the same to Snufkin. Snufkin and Moomintroll had taken to entertaining themselves – which consisted of Moomintroll, once again, talking quite a bit while Snufkin mostly listened. Joxter chose to pay them no more mind. If Snufkin grew uneasy with the attention, he’d make it obvious enough.

Moominpappa coughed, embarrassed, before quickly taking control of the conversation.

“Joxter, you’ve met Moominmamma before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, though she wasn’t ‘Moominmamma’ back then,” Joxter remarked with a nod, “Nor you ‘Moominpappa’.”

“Yes, well, things can change rather drastically when you don’t care to keep up with a letter every once in a while,” Moominpappa complained.

“And send it where? You whisked your moominmaiden away to build a house with her and never gave a forwarding address,” Joxter responded, though he didn’t actually care at all, “It would make more sense for you to contact me knowing you could’ve just sent it to the Mymble.”

“I did.”

“What a shame. Must’ve gotten lost,” Joxter boredly remarked.

Moominpappa rolled his eyes before quickly moving on.

“Speaking of the Mymble… Is she-?”

“Snufkin’s mother? She is. One more for the tally, I suppose.”

“How odd. Aren’t mymble children normally mymbles?” Moominpappa asked.

“Usually. It appears mumrik genes might be even stronger than a mymble’s,” Joxter chuckled.

“I’d say he looks like both,” Moominmamma piped in, looking Snufkin over with a gentle gaze, “Perhaps your genes just mix together very well in that case.”

Joxter thought about the statement for all of two seconds before deciding he liked the sound of it very much. Snufkin being half mymble was not something that had never crossed Joxter’s mind, but he acted so much more like a mumrik that it was easy to forget sometimes he was only partly one.

“Hm, you might be right,” was all he said in response.

There was a brief moment of silence as everyone ate – the only sound in the room being that of clinking forks against plates and shuffling in seats. Even Moomintroll had stopped talking for a few seconds in order to shove food in his mouth. Then, the silence was broken when Moomintroll seemed to notice something odd, swallowing the bite he’d just taken before talking again.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” Joxter heard Moomintroll ask, drawing his attention. He glanced back over to the children, then at Snufkin’s untouched plate of pancakes.

“Do you not like pancakes? I could make you something else,” Moominmamma suggested.

Snufkin made a small groan in the back of his throat and shied away from the moomin family’s gazes on him. He hadn’t even tried the pancakes so it was impossible to know if he didn’t like them, and he must’ve been hungry so that surely wasn’t the problem. He had been acting rather shy around the moomins, but Joxter didn’t think he’d be too embarrassed to even eat around them, so that wasn’t it either.

It was quick, but Joxter did catch a small, uneasy glance Snufkin sent to the fork beside his plate. Everyone else at the table was using theirs without any problem, and Joxter had a dawning realization that he hadn’t paid much mind to before.

Children needed to be taught so many things – so much that would never have seemed obvious until it came up.

How silly. 

“You can use your paws,” Joxter told him.

Snufkin groaned again and slunk in his seat.

“… sticky,” he finally responded in a quiet voice.

Joxter rolled his eyes. Snufkin was so particular sometimes and most of that time it made no sense. He was a kid who would happily roll around in some dirt but then turn around and get grossed out by getting jam on his bare paws.

Joxter extended his arm across the table with a fork in his grip.

“Hold it like this – between these two fingers,” he said.

Snufkin copied him. He fumbled with the fork but did manage to stab his pancake with it. Unfortunately, he kept trying to pick up the entire thing and it kept sliding off the prongs, and with every failed attempt he grew a little more agitated.

“Why don’t I cut it up for you? It would be easier to pick up,” Moominmamma offered.

Snufkin hesitated but did eventually nod, and Moominmamma happily took his plate and cut up his pancake for him. It still took him a few tries to get it sort of right, but he was able to pick up the pieces and start eating after that with only a few mishaps here and there.

Did children need to be taught things like how to use a fork? Joxter was suddenly unsure. He didn’t remember anyone teaching him – he’d just seen someone do it once and suddenly knew how. Moomintroll didn’t seem to have trouble with it. Did his parents teach him? Or perhaps it was just something that was understood with age? Snufkin wasn’t much younger than Moomintroll, but with the rate at which children grew and learned year by year, perhaps he was still too young to pick up on things like that?

Moomintroll also spoke a lot more… Joxter had brushed off their one-sided conversations as nothing more than an overly chatty child clashing with a much quieter one, but he began to wonder if Snufkin was intimidated at not knowing as many words.

Snufkin was bright though. He could pick up on plenty of other things he observed. In fact, most of the things he knew were things that he saw Joxter do and not things that Joxter taught him to do, but would he have picked up on more if Joxter had made more of an effort to teach him everything and anything he could think of? Was Snufkin actually smart or was Joxter just biased and his son was an idiot, and if he was an idiot, was it Joxter’s fault for being a lousy teacher?

He forced himself to stop thinking about it. That was a lot of unnecessary thinking to do just because Snufkin hadn’t known how to use something he’d never had to use before.

“How long do you plan to stay in the valley?” Moominpappa asked, drawing him back into their own conversation.

“Plan?”

“Oh, right… How long have you been here already?”

“We just arrived yesterday,” Joxter said after taking another bite of his food, “I imagine we’ll rest awhile before moving on. Those mountains are dreadful to climb.”

“Will Snufkin be leaving?” Moomintroll asked, having tuned into what they were talking about.

He sounded sad, though that wasn’t surprising. The tone, however, did send an uncomfortable prickle seeping under Joxter’s skin, and based on the wary glance Snufkin gave Moomintroll, he must’ve felt it too. That was no good. Maybe a ghost really would’ve been easier to deal with.

“Moomintroll, why don’t you take Snufkin outside to play? You can show him that game you made up,” Moominmamma suggested, standing and taking the boys’ empty plates. 

She pressed a kiss to Moomintroll’s head, which instantly brightened him up again and distracted him from his question. Snufkin watched the interaction carefully before moving around to the other side of the table to tug on Joxter’s sleeve.

“Papa, I’m gonna go play outside,” he quietly announced.

“I heard,” Joxter said, confused why Snufkin was telling him again.

Snufkin shifted uncomfortably but didn’t move away, like he was expecting something to happen.

“Are you waiting for permission?” Joxter asked, cocking an eyebrow, “Be mindful: There’s a wrong answer.”

“No.”

He still didn’t move. He quickly glanced over at Moominmamma as she worked to clear the rest of the table, then back to Moomintroll as he waited patiently by the door, then back to Joxter. It took Joxter another second, but when he realized what Snufkin wanted, he couldn’t help but laugh. The poor dear had gotten jealous!

“Are you waiting for a kiss then?” Joxter asked through a smile.

Snufkin furiously blushed but nodded, and Joxter found it absolutely adorable. He took Snufkin’s face in his paws and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Snufkin, still thoroughly embarrassed but pleased nonetheless, let out a small chuckle before darting off and accepting Moomintroll’s paw so he could pull him outside to play.

“What a sweet boy. I’m glad he and Moomintroll are getting along,” Moominmamma remarked.

Moominpappa nodded in agreement. “Yes, quite!”

Then, he turned to Joxter and added, “You know, they kind of remind me of us.”

“Do they? I don’t remember us ever running around, paw in paw and giggling like schoolgirls,” Joxter joked.

Moominpappa laughed before clarifying, “No, no! I just meant the way our sons are friends just like we were.”

Joxter didn’t miss Moominpappa’s use of past tense in that statement, but he didn’t mention it. Either Moominpappa hadn’t meant it like that, or he did and in that case, Joxter couldn’t reasonably argue with it. Joxter might not have been a creature whose relationships were affected by a silly thing like the passage of time, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think everyone else was like that as well. It wasn’t like he and Moominpappa were the best of friends to begin with and a few years of non-communication could easily have crumbled whatever fragile bond they’d had. 

If he thought about it like that, suggesting their sons were like them almost felt like an insult to whatever those two kids had going on.

“We’ll just have to have the Muddler bring his boy over and it’ll complete the set,” Moominpappa jokingly continued, oblivious to Joxter’s thoughts.

“Muddler has a child?” Joxter asked.

He really had been bad about keeping up with everyone, hadn’t he?

“Two, in fact. His youngest is about Moomintroll and Snufkin’s age.”

“Two already? Him and Fuzzy have been busy, I see.”

Moominpappa flushed at the untoward statement before quickly moving on.

“Yes, well…” He coughed. “Why don’t we move to the other room to catch up some more?”

They continued chatting about their lives and families and adventures they’d had since the last time they saw each other. Joxter didn’t consider himself an adventurer in the same way Moominpappa considered himself as one, but he’d been to many places and seen quite a few things in his time, and Moominpappa seemed eager to hear about it. It was obvious he missed traveling and adventuring, but Joxter couldn’t feel sympathy. It wasn’t like anyone forced him to settle down and build a house, nor did anyone force him to stay after he did.

What a terrible thought – to be so tied down. While Joxter loved Mymble very much, he could never imagine himself marrying her and sticking around to be the father of her many, many children with no freedom of his own to do what he liked or go where he pleased. He got lucky that Snufkin came out with the same wandering instincts as he did, otherwise he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Had Snufkin been born a full mymble, that might have just been the thing that would make Joxter leave him behind.

Oh, that was an even worse thought… He would still love Snufkin of course, but the thought of being trapped inside the same four walls, at least until Snufkin was all grown up, sounded like an absolute nightmare, so there would have been no choice but to leave him with his mother while Joxter continued to wander. He couldn’t rightfully drag a mymble around in the same way he could a mumrik, could he? Would he even know how to take care of it if it was nothing like him?

But Snufkin wasn’t even a full mumrik. He was a lot like one, but was it unfair for Joxter to keep forgetting about that mymble nature of his that peeked through on occasion? It wasn’t like mumriks never needed company, but compared to mymbles they were much more solitary creatures. Joxter felt like he was giving Snufkin enough love, but Joxter also had full mumrik tendencies so it was hard to tell what a mymble would be thinking in comparison. What if “enough” affection for a mumrik wasn’t enough for a mymble? Was Snufkin not getting as much attention as he needed and that was why he got jealous of the way Moominmamma treated her son earlier?

Was it even fair to think of Snufkin as a mymble or a mumrik at all? He was technically neither in the same way he was both, so was it better to assume he was an entirely new creature altogether or really just a clash of each? Was he a mymble and a mumrik or was he just a snufkin – neither nor both? Was Joxter way in over his head by assuming a snufkin would have any of the same desires or tendencies or needs of either of their parent’s species?

Moominpappa was saying something else to him, but he’d stopped listening, though not on purpose for once. Moominpappa noticed, scoffing at having been ignored.

“If I’m boring you, you could just say so,” he complained, chewing on the end of his pipe.

“Do you think you’re a good father?” Joxter abruptly asked – the words coming out faster than his brain could even process them.

Moominpappa startled at the question, but he seemed confident in his answer when he said, “Why, I like to think so! Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty I still don’t quite understand, but I do my best.”

“And you think your best is enough?”

“Well… It’s all I have.”

Joxter thought about that answer for a long time, rolling it around in his head while Moominpappa looked at him in concern. Finally, Joxter replied.

“Isn’t it frustrating how you can give all you have and still mess up?”

“I’d be offended, but I have a feeling you aren’t talking about me anymore,” Moominpappa said.

Joxter didn’t feel like elaborating. He’d already said too much. It didn’t matter though because he was distracted by the sound of Moomintroll’s yell from outside – not a happy, playful one like he’d been hearing, but something more akin to fear or perhaps surprise.

He stood up and quickly made his way outside, much to Moominpappa’s confusion as he followed him. He probably hadn’t heard the yelling but he understood well enough what was going on when they found their children by the brook – Moomin worriedly hovering over Snufkin as he sat on the ground. There was a blood spattered rock beside Snufkin and a nasty scrape on his knee, and the pieces were easy enough to put together.

Joxter and Moominpappa were just a few feet away when Joxter heard Moomintroll frantically say, “Are you okay!? Does it hurt? I’ll get Mama!”

He turned and immediately dashed into the direction of the house, running snout first into his papa’s stomach instead. He fell onto his haunches and shook his head but recovered quickly and announced, “Papa! Snufkin’s hurt!”

“I can see that,” Moominpappa said, helping him back up, “Go fetch your mama so she can fix him up.”

Moomintroll obliged and continued his quest to the house, yelling “Mama!” the entire way. 

Joxter took a step towards Snufkin but stopped when his son started pouting and turned away, curling himself into a little ball.

“I’m fine,” Snufkin spit.

Moominpappa looked towards Joxter in question. Joxter sighed and explained, “He hates being fussed over.”

He was sure Snufkin was partly upset at having gotten hurt, but his embarrassment over falling and having his new friend worry over him probably far outweighed any actual pain he felt. Regardless, it was going to cause Moominmamma quite the hassle if he resisted her efforts to bandage the scrape.

“Snufkin, it’s nothing to fret over. Come here,” Joxter said.

Snufkin was unwilling. He simply curled into himself even tighter somehow, his tail swishing in agitation behind him. What a difficult child he could be sometimes.

Joxter put his paws on his hips and decided to change tactics. If Snufkin wouldn’t listen to reason, then Joxter would just have to forcefully pry him out of that moody state he was in.

“I heard a certain someone was hurt,” Joxter said, earning a huff from Snufkin in response, “But it can’t be you, can it?”

“Moominmamma is coming,” Moominpappa informed from beside him, “She might be able to-“

Moominpappa didn’t get the chance to finish the statement before Joxter pounced. One second he was standing beside Moominpappa and the next he had landed on top of Snufkin, earning a surprised shriek in response. He used his momentum to scoop Snufkin up into his arms, rolling a few times before coming to a stop and sitting up with a rather disoriented child in his lap.

Joxter didn’t even wait for him to recover before poking and prodding at him, lifting up his arms and turning him every which way in as exaggerated a manner as possible as he said, “It can’t be you, because I don’t see a hurt spot anywhere!”

“Papa!” Snufkin complained, regaining his senses and trying to clamber out of Joxter’s unrelenting hold.

“Is it here?” Joxter asked, smiling wide and lightly pinching Snufkin’s arm.

“No!”

“Here?” Joxter pinched Snufkin’s ear.

“No!” Snufkin whined, trying to slap at Joxter’s paw.

“What about here?” Joxter asked again, pinching Snufkin’s side.

That one made Snufkin giggle, though it was a very mild one like he was still trying to act all bothered.

“My knee!” Snufkin loudly said, holding still long enough for Joxter to take a look in the hopes it would end the shenanigans.
 
Joxter, unwilling to give up that easily, grabbed the opposite leg of where the scrape was, swiftly dragging Snufkin up and holding him upside down to inspect the wrong knee.

“Are you sure? I don’t see anything here,” he announced with a tilt of his head.

Snufkin thrashed in the hold, but the giggling that broke through made it all too obvious the plan had worked better than Joxter would’ve thought.

“The other one!” Snufkin shrieked.

Joxter righted him and sat him back down. He finally took a look at the scrape on Snufkin’s knee, humming in mock thought.

“Well, would you look at that! That’s nothing! No wonder it was so hard to find,” Joxter joked.

Then, growing a little more serious but never dropping his smile, he asked, “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Snufkin mumbled.

Joxter heard Moominmamma’s voice just then as she said, “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” and he looked over to see her walking up next to Moominpappa.

Snufkin looked at Joxter in silent question and Joxter nodded, ushering him to go to Moominmamma. Snufkin ran over to her and took her paw with no more fuss.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said as she led him back to the house.

Joxter watched them go before finally standing back up. Being mothered for a bit might do Snufkin some good.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Moominpappa suggested.

Joxter nodded and followed Moominpappa’s lead. They arrived at the beach and sat down on the sand, watching the way the sun’s rays rippled along the surface of the water on the horizon. Joxter pulled out his pipe and lit it, taking a long drag as they soaked in the sound of the shifting waves and the light breeze pressing tender kisses along their ears; the smell of tobacco quickly intertwining with the sea salt of the ocean. Moominpappa followed suit, lighting his own pipe and letting the smoke drift off above him to dissipate in the otherwise fresh air of the valley.

“Can I be honest with you, Joxter?” Moominpappa asked after a bout of silence.

“Do you really need my permission to tell an honest truth?”

“It’s about our conversation earlier. It worried me quite a bit,” Moominpappa slowly said, the words slightly muffled as his pipe dangled from his lips.

Joxter didn’t say anything. He kept his gaze forward, waiting to hear what Moominpappa wanted to say. Moominpappa correctly took the silence as his indication to continue.

“I promise you, I’m no stranger to the ups and downs of fatherhood. Whatever worries you have about Snufkin are not unique, I’m sure.”

Joxter took another drag. He couldn’t see Moominpappa, but he could feel the way he turned to look at him – his eyes boring holes in his skin like a hot iron to leather.

“I know it might feel different to you, given your nature…” Moominpappa continued.

Joxter didn’t like that statement at all – or at least what he thought Moominpappa had meant by it. Back when they’d known each other before, Joxter was not a father. Joxter, in fact, was probably one of the last people who should’ve ever been one according to himself and anyone who knew him. He was lazy, and carefree, and couldn’t be bothered to put in work when work was needed so long as he could make someone else do it all for him. But as he was who he was, he was also not beholden to any rules, including his own. He spent the last three years defying that nature of his, proving that point well enough. He might have had his doubts about everything, but he wouldn’t sit back and have all his efforts discounted because of a silly thing like nature. 

“… but for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing just fine despite all that,” Moominpappa finished.

“You’ve seen me be a father for a single day and think you have a solid idea of what I’m like?” Joxter stubbornly asked.

“Not at all. But I’ve seen Snufkin be your son for a day and that tells me more than your behavior ever could.”

Joxter didn’t turn his head but his eyes did shift over to Moominpappa, staring at him in curiosity from the corner of his vision. Moominpappa looked genuine, though it wasn’t like Joxter had been expecting anything else.

“He trusts you a lot,” Moominpappa explained, putting a paw on Joxter’s shoulder, “I mean, we thought you were missing at first and he didn’t seem concerned at all!”

“He could’ve been glad I was gone,” Joxter suggested, though they both knew it wasn’t true.

And, as expected, Moominpappa easily countered, “Didn’t seem like it to me. Felt more like he knew you had to be around somewhere – that you wouldn’t just leave him all alone like that.”

“Is that it? The bar is pretty low if not abandoning my son is what makes me a decent father.”

“Just the fact you’re concerned about this at all is what makes you a decent father! The entire time I’ve known you I never got the impression you cared about anything, and now you’re here, stressing yourself out about a kid you probably could’ve left with his mother if he was that much of a bother. I find it hard to believe Mymble would’ve been so opposed to adding one more child to her brood at home.”

Moominpappa sighed heavily and dumped out his pipe ash onto the sand.

“What I think doesn’t matter anyway,” Moominpappa continued. “There’s only one opinion that would matter to you and it’s clear to me how he feels. I don’t think any child who had a reason to not love their father would be so enamored by him still.”

“He’s three. He can hardly know what’s good for him at this point,” Joxter countered.

Moominpappa lightly pushed him.

“I’m trying to be encouraging but you’re being annoyingly difficult right now,” he complained. Then, he thought about the statement a moment longer and said, “Honestly, I should have expected that.”

Joxter dumped his own ash between them, right on top of Moominpappa’s ashes.

“You’re doing it all on your own as well,” Moominpappa tacked on, finally looking away, “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have Moominmamma around to help. She’s very good with Moomintroll – knows all the right things to say and do to keep him happy.”

“Your boy is too spoiled if you ask me. It’s a bad influence on Snufkin. He’s already bothering me for kisses. Soon enough he’ll be putting me to work – asking me to cut up his apples into slices and tuck him into bed every night and… and give him baths every day,” Joxter jokingly complained.

“Is that really what you think being spoiled means?” 

“It does a boy some good to have a bit of independence, don’t you think? Then again, you moomins are rather helpless creatures, aren’t you? Perhaps you just wouldn’t understand.”
 
“Well, you’re right about something! I never could understand you,” Moominpappa laughed.

There was a small bit of silence as they watched the clouds roll over the sky on the horizon. Moominpappa laid his pipe down on the sand and leaned back – the sound of sand shifting under his weight the only sound to break through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. The valley really was beautiful, and Joxter supposed if someone was going to settle down, they couldn’t have picked a better spot.

“Joxter,” Moominpappa said finally, breaking the silence, “If Snufkin did decide to become, well… ‘spoiled’… What would you do? If he did ever ask you to cut his apples up and give him baths every day, would you?”

“I’d complain a lot,” Joxter said.

“And then you’d do it anyway?”

Joxter didn’t verbally answer at first, but he made a small hum in the back of his throat that seemed to serve as answer well enough. Joxter loathed baths almost as much as he loathed working, and cutting up fruit for a kid with sharp canines sounded like the most pointless task imaginable, and yet… 

“Snufkin’s very particular. If he wants something, he usually gets it,” he eventually said.

“See, to me, that’s spoiled,” Moominpappa laughed.

Joxter smiled. He supposed he couldn’t argue with that.

Chapter Text

Joxter and Moominpappa stayed at the beach for a while before deciding it was time to head back. They found everyone out on the veranda – Moomintroll sitting down beside the steps and playing with a doll while Moominmamma sat nearby, gently rocking a sleeping Snufkin in her lap.

“They’ve been running around nonstop since you two left,” Moominmamma chuckled.

“He’s not used to so much exercise,” Joxter explained, carefully taking Snufkin from Moominmamma, “Probably wore him out for the next couple days, at least.”

Despite trying to be gentle, Snufkin did wake up momentarily, but only to dozily wrap his arms around Joxter’s neck and nuzzle into it. He cooed contently before falling back asleep.

“I know you have your tent, but we also have a guest room upstairs you’re welcome to use,” Moominpappa offered.

“You also have that lovely apple tree over there,” Joxter countered.

Moominpappa didn’t respond to that but gave a flat expression, like he was fighting the urge to make a comment. He knew Joxter well enough to know it wouldn’t matter.

Joxter carried Snufkin over to the apple tree and climbed up into it, settling on a low branch. Snufkin’s tiredness was the perfect excuse for Joxter to take his long overdue nap – not that he really needed much of an excuse. Snufkin was still clinging to his neck and so Joxter carefully extracted him so that he could lay him up against his chest instead for a more comfortable position. Then, with one arm wrapped tightly around Snufkin to keep him from rolling off, Joxter closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Joxter didn’t normally dream, and he still didn’t – not exactly. His naps were typically uneventful; he’d close his eyes and wake up what felt like a second later, only a much more significant amount of time had passed. This time, however, he fell asleep and stared at black while a cold sense of trepidation coursed through his unconscious body like a swarm of locust eating their way through his veins. They picked him apart, bit by bit, while the vague sound of rushing water in the distance crawled its way into the holes left behind by the bugs.

An ocean? Not quite… The trickling sounded more like a river.
 
Forebodings were such tricky beasts to understand. He wished he could be given a clearer idea of what was to happen instead of indistinct feelings that could’ve meant anything at all. What was the point of dreading the future if he wasn’t able to discern what, exactly, he was supposed to be dreading?

He was abruptly woken from his strange premonitions by a paw pressing against his forehead. He opened his eyes to come face to face with Snufkin’s concerned gaze.

“Are you sick?” Snufkin asked, breath tickling Joxter’s nose.

Joxter took a second to fully reawaken – taking in his surroundings and remembering where he was. They were still in the apple tree and the sun had moved just enough to tell Joxter barely an hour had passed since he’d fallen asleep. He also realized he was sweating, and based on how worried Snufkin looked, Joxter had to imagine his own face looked rather pale and sickly. It was rare forebodings would put him in such a state, and usually when they did it meant something big was about to happen. Joxter didn’t enjoy that thought at all. 

“I’m okay,” Joxter reassured, leaning Snufkin away slightly so he wasn’t directly in his face.

“Did Papa have a bad dream?” Snufkin asked.

“Something like that,” Joxter simply responded, pretending to rub sleep out of his eyes in the hopes it would bring color back to his face.

“I had a dream too,” Snufkin said.

“Did you?”

“Yeah.”

Joxter waited but Snufkin didn’t say anything more. Apparently he just wanted to announce that and not elaborate. With a roll of his eyes, Joxter tightened his grip on Snufkin and clambered out of the tree – the scent of something fresh from the kitchen beckoning him – before setting Snufkin down on his feet so they could walk to the house together.

That was what Joxter was thinking they’d do, anyway. The second Snufkin’s feet touched the ground, however, Snufkin let out an agitated huff and started pouting.

“What’s the issue now?” Joxter asked, crossing his arms.

“My knee hurts.”

“You spent the whole morning running around on that thing and you want me to believe it’s only hurting you now?”

Snufkin made a small humming noise but didn’t answer – eyes purposefully looking anywhere but Joxter’s.

“You know, if you want to be carried, all you have to do is ask,” Joxter pointed out.

“I don’t want to,” Snufkin mumbled.

“Then walk.”

Snufkin didn’t start walking though. He kept kicking his leg back and forth, scuffing the grass with his shoe. Joxter couldn’t figure out what he wanted, because Snufkin couldn’t possibly be hoping Joxter would fuss over him. Joxter was sure if he tried, it would put Snufkin in an even worse mood.

“Snufkin, your options are to stand here forever, walk to the house, or let me carry you. You have to pick one,” Joxter sternly said, hardly able to believe this was something he had to put up with so suddenly. Snufkin was difficult sometimes, but not usually like this. He was usually at least somewhat reasonable.

Snufkin thought about it for a moment, glancing down at his bandaged knee and even crouching down so he could poke at it.

“Ow,” he said.

“Don’t touch it,” Joxter warned for as good as it would do after the fact.

Snufkin fully sat down and started to pick at the blades of grass. Joxter assumed that meant he was just gonna sit there and pout for a while and he was about to leave him to it when Snufkin finally spoke again.

“You can drag me,” he confidently said.

“Are you serious?” Joxter mumbled, baffled by such a ridiculous request, “You think that’s gonna be more comfortable for you than just being carried to the door?”

Snufkin, with his tiny little baby brain and incoherent rationalizations, nodded affirmatively.

“You know what? Whatever. Let’s go,” Joxter resigned. This was not a fight he particularly cared about winning. 

Snufkin outstretched his paw and Joxter took hold of it, dragging Snufkin along behind him as he made his way to the door of the veranda, only lifting Snufkin up for a moment to bypass the steps before plopping him back down. He went inside, dragging Snufkin to the table where Moominmamma had just finished setting up lunch, before lifting Snufkin once more and dropping him into the seat beside his own.

Moominpappa looked back and forth between Joxter and Snufkin but didn’t say anything. Moominmamma and Moomintroll didn’t seem to care.

“I didn’t like that,” Snufkin decided to mention.

Joxter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.

“Wow, really? If only someone had told you you wouldn’t,” he sarcastically said.

Children could be so odd, which was quite a statement coming from someone who was generally considered odd himself. Joxter just woke up and he already felt like he needed another nap.

“Once you finish eating, I’ll check on your knee again,” Moominmamma told Snufkin.

Snufkin nodded an okay and started eating his sandwich, smiling at a seashell Moomintroll put on the table to show off to him. He seemed to be in a much better mood now that he had food at least.

Once everyone had finished their lunch and Moominmamma checked Snufkin’s injury, the children went back outside to play and Joxter couldn’t help but note that Snufkin was miraculously not in pain anymore. Sometimes he wondered if Snufkin just found amusement in being difficult on purpose.

He sat on the porch and boredly strummed his guitar while he watched the kids play. He couldn’t tell what game they were playing, but they’d clearly made up an entire adventure in their heads and were gleefully acting it out – running circles around each other and giggling like they were having the time of their little lives. Snufkin didn’t often get the chance to make friends his own age and he seemed to be enjoying the opportunity well enough. He’d always been too young to care much about company aside from his father’s, but now that he’d had a taste for it, Joxter wondered if he could expect Snufkin to develop a yearning for socialization similar to a mymble. In that case, it would mean having to go out of their way more to be amongst people, and Joxter didn’t particularly care for that thought. He’d much rather Snufkin be content as they were: by themselves, at least until Snufkin could go off and be on his own without having to drag Joxter around with him.

One day, when he was all grown up, Snufkin was going to decide he no longer needed his father. Joxter wasn’t sad about that fact – not exactly, as he understood the value of independence for creatures like themselves – but he was already feeling a minor ache at knowing how much he was going to miss the days when Snufkin was no taller than a berry bush and eager to hold on to Joxter’s paw with every stumbling step his short little legs took. It was going to be a little strange becoming reaccustomed to traveling alone without a tiny child latched to his heels.

He stopped strumming when Snufkin’s foot slipped on the edge of the brook and he fell into the water with a splash. He was fine – immediately standing back up and laughing when Moomintroll jumped in after him and they continued their game soaked yet unbothered by that fact. The sound of the water reminded Joxter of his more immediate worries. Snufkin wouldn’t grow up for quite a while yet and Joxter had plenty of time to enjoy his company now, so it was best he shift his focus for the time being.

He didn’t particularly like thinking about the forebodings, but he knew they were trying to warn him about something and it was important he figure out what. He was sure it had something to do with water, but aside from that there was very little to go off of. Chances were it would become clearer as time went on, but by the time Joxter realized what would happen it might be too late to either brace for it or try to avoid it altogether.

He didn’t think he heard the sound of the valley’s brook. It was too small; too quiet in comparison to the louder rush of water, and it wasn’t the sound of the ocean’s tide hitting the shore, so he was certain it was a river. What would happen at the river, however, was the part that was frustrating him. All he knew was that it was something bad but that could mean anything from getting drowned to having the wind blow his hat off into the water and watching it get carried downstream, which would be annoying but hardly anything that warranted such awful dread about it.

Moominpappa came outside and stepped over Joxter to go scold the boys for getting wet. He ushered Moomintroll inside to get a proper bath and dried off before he caught a cold, though Joxter was sure it was too warm for such a worry. Snufkin, in the meantime, shook off as much water as he could before clambering over to Joxter and sitting beside him, leaning his sopping wet head of hair against Joxter’s side to soak his coat.

“Wanna hear a song?” Joxter asked, ready for a distraction.

He felt Snufkin nod against his side and so he resumed his strumming, letting the notes be carried away by the breeze.

Chapter Text

Joxter and Snufkin ended up staying with the moomin family for three weeks until Joxter decided it was time for them to move on. As much as he appreciated a safe place to rest and three ready-made meals a day, they couldn’t stay there forever, especially when winter would be coming around soon. The moomins would go into hibernation and Joxter wasn’t inclined to spend an entire season trapped indoors by snowstorms.

He considered just leaving in the morning before anyone else had woken up but stayed only because he felt it fair that Snufkin and Moomintroll had their goodbyes. Had it just been Joxter, Moominpappa and Moominmamma would have been understanding had he left without a word, but he had an inkling their little one might not have that same understanding quite yet when it came to Snufkin.

Moomintroll, as Joxter would’ve expected, was incredibly sad at Snufkin’s leaving and Joxter almost thought he’d have to pry Snufkin out of the hug they shared if he ever wanted to get anywhere. Thankfully Moomintroll did let up eventually and ran back to his mama to bury his snout against her side.

“Now, now, dear. It’s alright,” Moominmamma said to try and soothe him.

Snufkin tugged on Joxter’s trouser leg to get his attention.

“Papa, can we visit?” he asked.

Moomintroll and Moominpappa both seemed to perk up a little at that idea. They appeared to feel even better when Joxter said, “I don’t see why not.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t been keeping up with his old friends very well and considered if he should at least try. It had been nice seeing Moominpappa again, and he wouldn’t hate coming back for a visit every so often. Perhaps he should even pay a visit to Muddler and Hodgkins as well, and Snufkin could be kept company by Muddler’s kids.

It was an idea for later, after they’d crossed the mountains again. His only real immediate plan was to head south where the air would stay warm and unburdened by the winter. Moominmamma had provided them with a basket of baked goods for their journey, and so Joxter tied the handle to his pack, grabbed Snufkin’s paw, and together they got moving, twisting and winding along the mountain paths until they found themselves on the other side.

Joxter liked traveling, but he liked finding easier ways to do it even more. Walking wasn’t inherently too bad, but when at all possible, he was inclined to hitch rides on more effortless modes of transportation. Luckily for him, they came across a hemulen driving a horse-drawn carriage and Joxter managed to convince him to give them a ride by offering up one of Moominmamma’s homemade bread rolls as payment. He helped Snufkin up onto the back of the carriage before climbing up himself and leaning back against a bundle of hay to relax as the carriage lurched forward. Snufkin, in the meantime, dug in the basket and helped himself to a cookie.

“You lot headed anywhere specific?” the Hemulen asked, voice bouncing with the roll of the carriage wheels over uneven terrain.

“No,” Joxter simply said.

“I heard there’s a town down south that has a festival every year around this time. Thought about seeing it for myself, but I’ve got to deliver all these goods by the end of the week,” the Hemulen said.

“What’s a festival?” Snufkin asked through a mouthful.

“It’s a school where they make you sit still for hours and listen to someone talk about the proper ways to arrange flowers,” Joxter lied, disapprovingly shaking his head for added effect, “You have to dress proper too, and take a bath. Then they make you eat unsalted seaweed and go to bed before sunset.”

The horrified face Snufkin made almost made Joxter lose his composure immediately.

“What if I don’t wanna do any of that?” Snufkin asked.

“It’s too bad. You either do what they say or they feed you to an antlion. It’s tragic,” Joxter said with a click of his tongue.

“Don’t listen to your daddy! He’s fibbing to you,” the Hemulen quickly cut in. “A festival is like a big party! There’s music, and dancing, and food, and no one makes you eat seaweed if you don’t want to.”

“What if I do wanna eat seaweed?” Snufkin asked.

“Well! Then I suppose no one would stop you,” the Hemulen said with a guffaw.

Snufkin giggled, absolutely enthralled by the image the Hemulen put in his head. He shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth and swallowed so fast Joxter almost thought he’d choke, then fell across Joxter’s lap in an exaggerated manner and looked up at him with the most pleading look he’d probably ever made.

“Papa, I wanna eat seaweed,” he confidently stated.

“You mean you wanna go to the festival?” Joxter guessed.

Snufkin nodded.

“Fine, fine. I’m sure it’s worth a look,” Joxter easily said with a smile and a small pat on Snufkin’s head.

There were certain aspects of parties Joxter didn’t particularly like, but amongst all types of celebrations, festivals were probably his favorite for requiring less of those awful expectations from him. He wasn’t required to converse with anyone if he didn’t want to, and no one would bother him if he helped himself to as much food and drink as he could handle. If he so chose to, all he would have to do was let Snufkin go off and dance and have fun until he was tired enough to want to leave. Though, Joxter wouldn’t be particularly disinclined to join in on the festivities if the music proved lively enough.

The Hemulen took them a few hours away until he stopped and informed them it was time to part, giving them directions to the town before continuing to his own destination. Joxter took Snufkin’s paw and they got moving again, following a dirt path through scattered trees. The town ended up being about an hour’s walk away from where they’d been dropped off, and they managed to find it just before the sun was meant to set. They could already hear music and chatter before they even fully reached it, and Joxter could only imagine how much more lively the festivities would get as the day eventually turned into night.

Snufkin was eager to join in, not quite running but still moving his little legs as fast as he could at a jogging pace. He was practically vibrating in excitement, tugging on Joxter’s paw to try and urge him along, and Joxter couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement.

“Papa! Hurry! Let’s go!” Snufkin eagerly said, tail thrashing about as he continuously looked between Joxter and the town up ahead, which was just starting to peek into their vision.

“Ah, but I’m so tired,” Joxter complained in an exaggerated manner.

“We gotta get to the party!” Snufkin urged, digging his heels into the ground and tugging with all his might as Joxter incrementally slowed down.

“We will! But… maybe a quick nap first,” Joxter said, stopping completely.

“No!”

He laid down on the ground and curled into himself, ignoring frantic tugs on his coat and small fists lightly beating on him.

“Papa! Wake up!” Snufkin grunted.

Joxter faked a snore. He heard Snufkin huff before changing tactics, crawling underneath Joxter’s arm to press himself against his stomach and push with all his might to try and roll him over. Joxter smiled into his sleeve before using the opportunity to wrap his arm tightly around Snufkin and roll so he was more on top of him, practically pinning him to the ground though being careful not to crush him.

“Mmm… comfy pillow,” Joxter mumbled while Snufkin thrashed about as much as he could in the hold.

“Papa! I wanna dance!” Snufkin whined, finally realizing the effort was worthless and going limp.

Joxter chuckled, unable to help himself anymore. He yawned once more before finally sitting up, though not without scooping Snufkin up into his arms as he did.

“Do you! You’re making me give up a nap to dance? How cruel!” Joxter joked. Snufkin rolled his eyes and Joxter chuckled again. “Fine! We can go to the festival first, but I require recompense.”

“Re-… recome…” Snufkin tried.
 
“Payment,” Joxter clarified. Then, he tapped his cheek as he said, “A kiss. Right here.”

Snufkin leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Joxter’s cheek, pulling away and giggling when Joxter shot to his feet and twirled him around in his arms.

“Look at that! Woke me right up!” Joxter laughed, peppering his own kisses all over Snufkin’s face. Snufkin tried to push him away, though continued to giggle all the while.

When they finally reached the town’s gate, Snufkin’s enthusiasm appeared to leave him completely at the sight of the crowd. His smile fell and he ducked to hide behind Joxter’s legs, carefully eyeing everyone who walked by.

“It’s alright,” Joxter encouraged. He looked around for something to hopefully bring back that excitement, eventually noticing a small puppet show just across the town square. Other kids were already huddled in front of it, eagerly awaiting the story to begin.

“The dancing won’t start until later anyway. Let’s go hear a story,” Joxter said, once more grabbing Snufkin’s paw.

Snufkin was too reluctant though. He dug his heels into the ground and refused to move.
 
“Do you want to leave?” Joxter asked.

Snufkin groaned and shook his head. Despite being unnerved by the crowd, he still wanted to have fun somehow. Joxter took a moment to try and think of what to do, though he wasn’t sure what else to suggest. If Snufkin didn’t want to move and he didn’t want to leave either, his only real choice was to just stand there.

Snufkin was clinging tightly to Joxter’s pant leg, so close he was nearly burying his face into the fabric. He made a disgruntled hum in the back of his throat before cautiously looking up at Joxter, taking a second to contemplate something, and then lifting his arms.

“Papa,” he whined.

Joxter was so shocked by the request it took him a second to process it. Then, he cracked a smile and reached down, gently picking Snufkin up into his arms. Perhaps there were still times when being so little was too much of a burden to handle alone, even for a brave and mighty snufkin.

He carried him over to where the puppet show was, choosing a slightly more secluded area away from the other kids to sit Snufkin down. Joxter stayed nearby, perching on a fountain to watch from a distance while Snufkin listened to the story. Joxter didn’t particularly care about listening to children’s tales or watching puppet shows, but thankfully Snufkin seemed to grow enthralled by it well enough on his own, eventually scooting closer to the other kids and laughing along to all the jokes the storyteller told.

The band continued playing, but new musicians started to filter in to prepare for the nighttime festivities. The smell of spirits and freshly fried dough filled the air, and the chatter of dozens of intermingled conversations drifted idly on the wind to nearly drown out the music.

It had been years since Joxter had been to a party, or even willingly allowed himself to be in the middle of such a busy and noisy bustling crowd of people. Even just watching them all as they walked around and emitted exuberant energy in the wake of an eventful day was enough to tire Joxter out. At least the last party he went to had a very lovely mymble to keep his attention, but unfortunately he didn’t see anyone among the current crowd who caught his eye in the same way. Snufkin’s excitement was enough to keep Joxter from leaving immediately, but it wasn’t like Joxter himself was finding true interest in the festivities, at least as they were.

In fact, any sliver of interest he might have held was dashed immediately when a cold, prickling sensation shot up his spine and his vision went black for a split second, followed by the sound of rushing water infiltrating the cacophony to pound at his ears before that too went away just as quickly as it came. When his vision returned, he found himself staring intently at a picnic basket a short distance away. It captivated his thoughts and he couldn’t pull his attention away until the owner of the basket picked it up and walked off.

He shook his head and took a deep breath. Another foreboding.

The only good outlook was that it wasn’t an immediate problem. He was still sure the water was a river and given that they were in the middle of a town with no river nearby that he had seen, the foreboding wouldn’t ruin the festivities for Snufkin. The bad part was that Joxter still had no idea what the forebodings meant, and he hadn’t been given any real additional clues to try and figure it out. There was a good chance he might never, as finnicky as forebodings could be at times.

He was distracted by a tug on his pant leg, grabbing his attention.

“Oh. Is the story over already?” Joxter asked as Snufkin crawled into his lap.

“No. I’m hungry,” Snufkin said.

As soon as Snufkin said it, Joxter realized he was in the exact same predicament. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast, save for a few cookies during the ride in the carriage.

“I know there’s food somewhere around here,” Joxter said. It was hard to see much from where they were, but Joxter was able to use his nose to at least pinpoint a direction.

He picked Snufkin up again and carried him through the crowd towards the overwhelming scent of food, eventually coming across someone handing out fried pastries. Joxter accepted two of them before carrying Snufkin over to a grassy area between some buildings to sit and eat in peace.
 
“Are you gonna be able to dance when the dancing starts?” Joxter made sure to ask as they chewed their food. Snufkin was still very hesitant, and the sun was nearly gone, and Joxter couldn’t imagine he’d loosen up enough in such a short span of time.

Snufkin thought hard about it, humming through each bite he took. It was almost a full minute before he finally responded.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Snufkin nodded.

“You’re not gonna try and hide from everyone?”

Snufkin shook his head.

“Alright, then. If you’re sure.”

Joxter was sure of the very opposite, but there was no harm in letting Snufkin figure that out for himself. If he wanted to at least try, Joxter wouldn’t stop him.

The music picked up while they were still eating and based on the cheers and sudden stomping they heard in the town square, it was safe to assume the real party had just begun. They hurried eating before Snufkin grabbed Joxter’s paw and dragged him back over to the festivities. Expectedly, Snufkin stopped the moment he saw the crowd again.

“Go on, then. Have fun,” Joxter encouraged, leaning down and putting a paw on Snufkin’s back to gently urge him forward.

“Papa, dance with me?” Snufkin quietly asked.

“There’s some kids over there,” Joxter pointed out, nodding his head to a group of children dancing to themselves off to the side, “Why don’t you go dance with them? Make some friends.”

“It’s too many,” Snufkin whined, balling the end of his smock up in his fists.

“We don’t have to stay if you’re feeling bad,” Joxter said.

Snufkin was an odd one – a creature who was reclusive by nature and yet held a small flame of desire for socialization nonetheless. Joxter couldn’t imagine what it was like to be so torn on what he wanted to do. Joxter, as he was who he was, knew exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it, and did just that or did nothing at all if that was what he was inclined to do. Snufkin, on the other hand, seemed to always be questioning his own wants and Joxter didn’t understand it at all.

“I wanna dance,” Snufkin whined, still unmoving.

Joxter sighed and picked Snufkin up as he stood again. He looked over the crowd and knew wholeheartedly that he himself had no desire to jump amongst the masses and dance. 

“Do you just want to dance or do you want to dance with other people?” Joxter asked.

“Just dance.”

Joxter nodded and started to carry Snufkin away, towards the entrance to the town.

“In that case, we could always have a party of our own. We’ll set up camp, I’ll play you a tune, and you can dance around the fire. Does that sound fun?” Joxter asked.

“We do that all the time,” Snufkin said.

“But you like it, don’t you?”

Snufkin shyly smiled and buried his head in Joxter’s shirt, and Joxter took that to mean Snufkin was all for the idea. He carried him far enough out of town that the music could be barely heard anymore before stopping to pitch the tent and put together a campfire. Then, Joxter sat on the grass and began to strum his guitar, unable to keep from smiling as he watched Snufkin happily dance and hum along to the tune.

After a full song and in the middle of the next, Snufkin stopped and ran over to Joxter, tugging at his sleeve.

“Papa, dance with me!” he asked again.

“If I dance, we won’t have music,” Joxter pointed out.

“I’ll sing for you,” Snufkin proudly suggested.

Joxter laughed and put his guitar to the side, allowing Snufkin to pull him up.

“Well, how could I say no then?” he asked, taking Snufkin’s paws into his own, “Go on then. Lend me your pretty voice.”

Snufkin began singing a song he heard once from a storyteller they met awhile back about a baby squirrel lost in the woods. Joxter took the lead with dancing, moving as little as possible so Snufkin’s small legs could keep up. They tapped their toes against the grass and swayed to Snufkin’s tune, and when Snufkin forgot the words, Joxter helped by singing along, quiet and lulling as it drifted into the night. When the squirrel was reunited with his family and the song came to its end, Joxter lifted a drowsy Snufkin by his arms to hold him as he continued to hum and sway, pressing intermittent kisses along the top of his head where the moon cast gentle touches of light like a comb along his hair until he felt Snufkin relax fully in the hold and fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Joxter had another foreboding that night. He woke up in a panic and simply lied there for a while, trying to calm down while Snufkin continued to soundly snooze curled up against his chest. 

He’d been having such a peaceful sleep too. He was sure it would’ve been the kind that left him waking up in the morning refreshed and ready for a new day until it turned sour and he’d once again found himself in that black void, listening to the sounds of rushing water.

The foreboding did give him another clue that time, however. Amidst the frantic rush of the river, he heard a very faint, almost inaudible cry. It took a minute of listening, but he eventually made out what it was saying.

“Papa!”

All at once, a sharp pang of dread shot through Joxter’s abdomen like an arrow, lodging itself in his stomach and making him kneel over from the overwhelming pain that branched out through every vein in his body. He cried out for his son, looking all around for him but seeing nothing. Then, Snufkin’s voice faded away until it was gone completely, and that painful dread erupted into mourning like hot lava cascading through every crevice inside his fragile mortal body, and Joxter was sure he’d melt from the intensity of the agony – meld into the ground to become nothing more than a jagged shape amongst the natural stone.

It was a surprise he hadn’t managed to wake Snufkin with how harshly Joxter jolted awake after that. His breath was heavy and his cheeks were wet and he still felt that phantom pain in his stomach like it had lodged itself into his very soul. He took deep, trembling breaths and wrapped his arms tighter around Snufkin, making sure he felt every rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body pressed against him, and listened closely to every soft murmur he let out in his sleep.

A river. That, he’d already been sure of, but now he knew that whatever was to happen there involved Snufkin, and that was the part that scared him the most. 

They’d avoid rivers. That was all there was to it. Joxter wasn’t sure how possible it actually was, but he would try his best nonetheless. He had no desire to find out what would happen to Snufkin otherwise. It could have been something tame and not worth worrying over, but Joxter had a strong feeling that wouldn’t be the case. Whatever was meant to happen was something big, something excruciating for the both of them, and so Joxter just wouldn’t let it happen. It was as simple as that.

He wasn’t able to fall back asleep, no matter how hard he tried. By the time the sun began peeking over the horizon enough to illuminate the thin fabric of the tent, he gave up completely. He carefully extracted himself from around Snufkin and crawled out of the tent, stretching before helping himself to some bread from Moominmamma’s basket to ease his morning hunger. Then, with one more glance inside the tent to confirm Snufkin was still fast asleep, he started walking back towards the town to see if he could find anything interesting to temporarily take his mind off his worries.

Townspeople were already up and cleaning after the previous night’s festivities, while shopkeepers worked to open their stores and bakers set out whatever freshly prepared pastries they’d made overnight. Joxter could imagine how bustling the town normally was when there wasn’t even anything particular going on to incentivize anyone to mingle about, and while it was certainly not a place he would enjoy finding himself spending a lot of time in, it did have a certain charm to it.

He wandered by a toy store – his curiosity getting the better of him as he backtracked and went inside. He browsed all the wares along the shelves, getting particularly captivated by a creepy, yet oddly intriguing handmade doll with wiry hair and a crudely painted face on flat wood. There were various, less creepy stuffed dolls around it, as well as games and other knick-knacks that Joxter couldn’t see the appeal of. Snufkin wouldn’t either. He’d never been one for toys.

When his curiosity was satisfied, Joxter moved on to a shop that appeared to just be selling whatever junk the shopkeeper managed to find. There were tins of marbles and broken music boxes and even crumpled newspapers that Joxter was sure had been found in some muddy bank somewhere with as illegible as the smeared ink had become. Joxter found that shop to be very captivating, if only because, amongst the necklaces with missing gems and cracker boxes stuffed with rusted nails and fragments of stained glass, the shop very much reminded him of Muddler. Had the wooden storefront been replaced by a coffee tin, it would have been indistinguishable.

The next shop was a tailor’s. Joxter walked in and immediately took notice of the shopkeeper as she sat sewing a dress in the corner. They greeted each other with a nod and he looked around the shop to see if anything caught his eye. Nothing did, however. He wasn’t one to care about fashion, and so he was just about to leave and move on when the shopkeeper spoke to him.

“I like your hat,” she said with a smile. Then, she stopped sewing momentarily to pull something out of a box beside her. “I actually made one just like it the other day.”

In her paws was a bright green hat very similar to Joxter’s indeed. He stepped forward and took it, looking it over with a blooming sense of fascination.

“Are you selling it?” he asked.

“Was just about to put it up today.”

“How much?”

Joxter wasn’t one for material things and he knew Snufkin wasn’t either, and yet he knew very well that he wanted Snufkin to have that hat. As cheesy as it was, the idea of having matching hats with his son made his chest feel very warm and airy, as did the image of Snufkin’s smile he was sure he would bear witness to when he presented it to him.

The shopkeeper told him the price and he dug around in his pockets, pulling out a few coins. He didn’t really carry money around most of the time, if at all, and his mood was shattered when he realized he was a few coins short of the measly cost.

The shopkeeper seemed to notice, taking in his sudden sullen expression.

“I like your scarf too. It’s a very pretty color,” she said. “How about this: That hat is yours for the coins you have in your pocket and your scarf.”

She held out her paw and Joxter didn’t even have to think about it. He handed over his coins and scarf and happily left with a piece of fabric that held much more meaning to him than some thin, ratty string around his neck. It wasn’t until he stepped foot back outside that he realized the shopkeeper wouldn’t have use for that scarf either. She couldn’t possibly repair it or make something nice out of it.

He shoved the hat in his pocket as he made his way back to camp, finding Snufkin awake and digging through the basket for food. Joxter sat beside him and ruffled his already sleep-disturbed hair, earning a playful slap in response.

“Where’d you go, Papa?” Snufkin asked, sitting back with a slice of blueberry pie crumbling between his paws, dusting bits of crust along his lap.

“Just into town to peek around. It looks like everyone ran away after the party last night and now only giant eagles live there. Turned all the houses into huge nests for their babies and the fountain into a bird bath!”

“You’re lying!” Snufkin accused, wide-eyed.

“Not at all! One of them tried to eat me! It grabbed me up in its claws and almost carried me away, but I fought it off,” Joxter insisted with a flourish.

“Papa!”

“Okay, okay,” Joxter chuckled, easily giving up, “You got me. I was just doing a bit of shopping, though I think my first story’s more interesting.”

“Did you get anything?” Snufkin asked, taking his last bite of the pie and dusting the crumbs from himself.

“I did, actually. I got something for you. Close your eyes,” Joxter said, shoving his paw into his pocket and waiting for Snufkin to do as told.

Snufkin smiled wide in excitement and crinkled his eyes shut, even balling his fists like his little body was struggling to keep his eagerness contained. Joxter pulled the hat from his pocket before placing it on top of Snufkin’s head and pushing it back a little so it didn’t fall in his face. Snufkin opened his eyes when he felt the contact, hurriedly reaching up and pawing at the fabric for a moment before taking it back off his head to actually look it over.

“It’s a little big on you yet, but you’ll grow into it,” Joxter assured.

Snufkin didn’t say anything for a few seconds and the way his smile dropped made Joxter think he didn’t like the gift. He was about to suggest taking it back when Snufkin threw himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Joxter’s torso.

“I love it, Papa!” he cried into his coat, pulling away again to happily exclaim with a squeak in his voice, “It’s just like yours!”

Joxter smiled at Snufkin’s enamorment, watching as he tossed the hat back on his head and beamed up at Joxter with a brightness that rivaled the summer sun. Despite the size, the hat did suit him very well. Joxter would even dare say Snufkin looked even more like a miniature version of himself than before.

They packed up camp and headed off again to make as much distance towards the south as they could before winter. Joxter ended up tying a string to Snufkin’s hat so it could hang around his neck while he walked, otherwise it would keep slipping over his eyes. Snufkin still made sure to pull it back up on his head while they rested, sometimes even glancing at Joxter – sneakily like he was trying to be discreet, though Joxter always noticed – and adjusting it so that the angle even matched.

They traveled for days, and anytime Joxter would hear a rush of water or spot a river in the corner of his vision, he would swiftly turn and march in a different direction, making up some excuse for Snufkin so that he wouldn’t question it.

“I heard a wolf howl! Let’s go this way instead.”
 
“Look at that bird up there! Let’s follow it and see where it goes.”

“The trees that way look like they form an arrow. Clearly it’s a sign.”

It was tiring, and slowed them down considerably, and yet Joxter was sure it was the only viable solution to keeping Snufkin safe. Whenever they needed a drink or a bath, Joxter would try and find a pond or a shallow creek instead, and fishing was much scarcer with such limited options for going about it. The lack of fish was probably the worst part considering fish had become a large part of their diet over the years thanks to Snufkin’s inability to stop giving importance to otherwise unimportant woodland creatures.

Joxter hated every ounce of it. Normally, when he had forebodings, he just let whatever was going to happen happen to avoid wasting energy thinking about it, and then it would be over and that would be that. He didn’t particularly care about dealing with otherwise unsavory events when it was just him he had to think about, or even when he was in the company of other people sometimes, but he couldn’t help himself from caring when it came to Snufkin. Snufkin was so small, and so fragile, and depended on Joxter to keep him safe – which was a task Joxter willingly took on the second he carried Snufkin off from Mymble’s home almost four years ago. If something bad happened, regardless of how it happened, Joxter would feel responsible. He would be responsible.

Without fish to keep their stomachs full, they’d eaten everything Moominmamma had made for them in just a few short days, and Joxter had been about to discard the basket before Snufkin decided it was a lovely place to take his naps in. He was the perfect size to crawl inside, curl up into a ball, and rest easily, and when Joxter would put the lid over top to ensure darkness, it would knock Snufkin out like a light. Joxter even found that, so long as he wasn’t too rough about it, he could even sneakily pick up the basket with Snufkin inside to make a little more progress in their journey while he slept. Snufkin would sometimes wake up confused about the new surroundings, but he was also three years old. It wasn’t particularly hard to lie to him or direct his attention elsewhere to avoid the question entirely.

The easiest distraction was when Joxter had found the ocean and sat down on the beach. He set the basket down beside him and lifted the lid, watching in amusement as Snufkin popped his head out, still drowsy and blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness. He looked around, curious and clearly aware something was different, but that didn’t matter the second he caught sight of the silky blue waters as they rippled against the shore. Within a split second, he brightened up, eyes widening and a smile stretching across his face as he excitedly clambered out of the basket, ready to go play.

Joxter loved watching Snufkin be happy, and there were few things that made him happier than the ocean. It was a foolproof method of cheering him up when he was upset when nothing else could, and though Snufkin couldn’t swim, he seemed just as placated by simply watching the waves or dipping his feet in to feel the tides tickle along his toes.

Joxter helped Snufkin take off his shoes and roll up his trousers, struggling a bit with Snufkin’s frantic rush to get to the water as quickly as possible, like he’d drop dead if he had to wait a single second longer. As soon as he was ready, Snufkin dashed towards where the tide was dipping in and out, submerging his legs up to his knees and running around like he was playing a game of tag with the seafoam, giggling all the while.

Joxter watched on, resting an elbow on his knee and committing to memory the way Snufkin’s auburn hair shined iridescent in the blazing lurid light of the sun beaming down on him, and the way it fluttered to and fro with the gentle ocean breeze, making it look almost as if he was surrounded by a blinding halo of flame. The sounds of Snufkin’s laughter occupied every corner of Joxter’s mind as he observed the way his smile etched lines on his face and the way the corners of that smile upturned impossibly more when he glanced over at Joxter and excitedly waved mid-play. Joxter waved back, smiling his own smile as Snufkin turned away again and leaned over to splash in the water, tossing up twinkling gems of various lovely blue hues into the air around him that were just almost able to rival the bright dazzlement of his eyes.

There was little Snufkin loved more than the ocean, and there was nothing Joxter loved more than Snufkin.

Sometimes he had to wonder if there was something he did to deserve him. Joxter wasn’t one to usually care for the idea that things in life were deserved or otherwise, as life was more just like the drifting currents of the ocean to him, moving about as they pleased and just happening to bring life to ecosystems thousands of yards in the depths below. The ocean herself didn’t care for the algae or the fish that inhabited her waters, and yet she brought life to them nonetheless – gifted them their livelihoods in an act of just existing. Life was like that for creatures on land as well as far as Joxter was concerned, and yet all the same Snufkin felt like a gift to him, like someone had deemed him worthy of experiencing that overwhelming love folded over itself to squeeze all the way into his heart. It wasn’t like he himself felt he’d done anything to deserve it, as unambitious as he’d ever been in life and as uncaring for most things or people as he was, but it happened nonetheless and he couldn’t say he’d ever been grateful for anything up until the very moment he first laid eyes on his son as he laid cradled in his darling mother’s arms. There was nothing Joxter could’ve possibly done to expect the arrival of such a glorious light to bright up the darkest corners of his mind or prepared himself for the way a single person could twist him around their finger with the smallest smile or the tiniest hint of upset that Joxter just had to appease.

“Papa!” Snufkin called, running back over to Joxter with his hands behind his back, “Close your eyes!”

“Have you found something?” Joxter chuckled.

“Yeah! For you!” Snufkin excitedly said.

Joxter closed his eyes and held out his paw before cracking one eye open in teasing.

“No peeking!” Snufkin scolded.

“Alright, alright,” Joxter said with a smile, once more closing his eyes.

A second after, he felt something light press against his palm. With the order from Snufkin to open his eyes and look, Joxter obliged, finding himself staring at a light blue seashell with a small chip on one edge.

“It looks like Papa’s eyes,” Snufkin briskly informed, turning almost bashful when Joxter glanced back up to him.

“Does it?” Joxter asked as he turned the seashell over in his paw and felt along the ridges with his fingers.

Snufkin nodded, taking the seashell once more and holding it up to Joxter’s face, waiting a beat as if considering very thoughtfully, before enthusiastically nodding again.

“Mm-hmm!”

“And you’re gifting it to me?” Joxter asked, reaching over and pulling Snufkin into his lap. 

“Yeah!”

Joxter wrapped his arms around Snufkin and rested his chin on his head. He held his paws out in front of them with the seashell cradled within them, watching adoringly how Snufkin placed his own, much smaller paws lightly on top of Joxter’s.

“I think it’s very special,” Joxter made sure to say, though it wasn’t exactly the seashell specifically he was smitten with, “Thank you, my little love.”

Snufkin leaned back against Joxter’s chest as they silently watched the ocean for a while, enjoying the serenity of the moment. Near dusk, Joxter noticed some clouds rolling in and a brisk shift in the atmosphere that told him it was going to rain, meaning they’d have to find cover for the night. When the sun was almost fully set and he heard Snufkin sleepily murmur, barely able to keep his eyes open anymore – that was when they finally left the beach and searched around for a nice place to rest, quickly finding a nearby cave that appeared to be unoccupied. Joxter was especially excited about the proximity to the ocean. They could fish for breakfast in the morning. Maybe even look for crabs in the sand.

They managed to crawl inside just as a loud crack of thunder erupted outside, shaking the earth and signaling the rain to begin. It battered against the roof of the cave and curtained the entrance, and Snufkin laid down beside Joxter and buried his head against his stomach, eyes casting fearful glances to the outside.

“It’s alright. It’s just rain. It’s good for the earth to have a drink now and then,” Joxter assured, wrapping his arms around Snufkin and pressing a kiss to his head.

Snufkin nodded, though didn’t respond otherwise. He knew rain was healthy, but it didn’t stop him from being scared of particularly heavy thunderstorms.

Even still, he managed to fall asleep. Joxter waited for Snufkin’s breaths to even out and for the paws clenched in his coat to finally relax before falling asleep himself. The cave seemed suited well enough for rough weather, and so Joxter wasn’t particularly worried about getting rained on.

Joxter thankfully didn’t have a foreboding that night, but he didn’t exactly have a peaceful sleep either. Instead, he was harshly woken up by a viciously loud beat of thunder nearby, followed by the flash of a lightning strike and the sound of a tree falling somewhere beside the cave, making him all too happy they hadn’t gotten caught in the storm. He wasn’t sure how late into the night it was, but the only thing he could think about before he fell back asleep was how much he hoped the weather would clear up by the morning, otherwise those fishing plans would have to wait.

The next time he woke up, it was to frantic paws shaking him awake. He groggily opened his eyes and sat up when he saw Snufkin’s tear-stricken face hovering above him.

“Papa, I’m scared,” Snufkin whined, voice breaking.

Joxter glanced towards the entrance of the cave, frowning at the still heavy curtain of rain pelting the ground like anvils. He couldn’t even tell if it was morning yet thanks to the dark swirl of storm clouds casting the earth in perpetual shadow, and Joxter was starting to feel a vague yet growing sense of trepidation leach into his pores like poison.

“Don’t be scared,” he told Snufkin even still, hugging him tight, “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Snufkin didn’t seem convinced, but it wasn’t like Joxter was really expecting him to. Gentle reassurances were rarely able to counter true fear, and based on the harsh tremble in Snufkin’s entire body, Joxter was sure this was true fear.

He leaned over and grabbed the basket, popping off the lid and gently pulling Snufkin’s face out of his coat.

“Do you want to sleep in the basket? It’ll be warmer, and you’ll feel less exposed – like you’re in a little house,” Joxter suggested.

Snufkin considered it, paws kneading into Joxter’s coat all the while. After a few seconds he nodded and moved to crawl inside the basket, curling up into a tight ball. Joxter slowly put the lid back overtop, faltering when Snufkin glanced up at him with wet, wavering eyes that made Joxter’s vision go black for a split second and that same horrible sense of dread from his last foreboding flood back into his body with an intensity that made him feel as if he were suffocating.

“I love you,” Joxter quietly said, voice shaking. He wanted to ignore the feeling – will it away and chalk it all up to nerves, and yet he couldn’t shake the overwhelming sensation that it was the last time he’d ever get to say those words.

“Love you, Papa,” Snufkin quietly responded.

Would it be the last time Joxter ever heard those words back?

He drew a deep, unsteady breath and finally pulled the lid fully over the basket. He shook his head and bit his lip, trying hard not to cry out at all the terrible uneasiness coursing through his body in that singular moment. It was agonizing, like the forceful grip of fright was digging talons into his body, and he only had the vague sense left to consider if he’d been wrong about everything.

A river. That’s what he’d been sure of, but there was no river nearby. There was only the ocean, and that couldn’t possibly have been what he’d heard. It wasn’t the rain either. The sound was too distinct. 

Quietly, just in case Snufkin was still awake, he crept over to the entrance to the cave to try and peek out, but he couldn’t see much through the heavy fog that coveted the world around them. He sat there for a few minutes; listening for something; waiting for something; though he wasn’t entirely sure what. Something different. Something that gave him a clue why he was feeling so tense.

There was nothing though, only the rain.

He went back to sleep eventually, though it was much harder that time. He lied down and hugged the basket close to him, closing his eyes and waiting for what felt like hours before finally drifting into unconsciousness once more.

The third time he woke up, it was to the feeling of something wet seeping through his boots. He woke with a start, first checking that the basket was still there on instinct before looking down at his feet – all blood draining from his face when he cast his gaze to pooling water reaching up to grab at him from the entrance of the cave. The rain was still heavy outside, just as it had been all night, and whatever dread Joxter felt before was nothing like the frigid blast of cold air that froze his blood, breaking his veins into tiny shards of ice to cascade throughout every inch of his body and shred him from the inside out.

A flood.

Fighting the sudden tightness of his muscles from fright, he moved as quickly as he could to scoop up his pack and the basket with Snufkin inside of it before dashing towards the entrance of the cave, eager to get out before the water trapped them in there. They were at a slight incline to the ground, and Joxter had to assume that meant the further out he went, the deeper the water would become. He had to find high ground somewhere before the waters rose to a more dangerous degree.

He waded through the water until he reached a point where he was sure he could start walking in a different direction, though it was still hard to see much in such a dark and stormy hellscape. The water sat at just above his knees but he knew it would only keep rising, especially with the ocean nearby to aid in the tides. 

Through the thunderous hum of the torrential rainstorm, he vaguely heard Snufkin say something from inside the basket, though he couldn’t make out what it was. When Joxter didn’t respond, Snufkin tried to peek his head out, but Joxter firmly pressed the lid back over him and lifted the basket closer to his face to loudly say, “Don’t come out! Everything’ll be okay!”

“Papa…” he heard whimper from the basket.

Joxter lowered the basket once more and quietly said to himself, once more, “It’ll be okay.”

He desperately hoped it would be true.

There were plenty of trees in the area he’d wandered into, but a couple had been knocked over already and he thought back to the one that got hit by lighting near the cave, and he wasn’t so sure that was the safest option. At the most, it was a last resort if he couldn’t find higher ground before the water rose too much, but his best bet at the moment was to search for a steep hill or a town with high rooftops. The problem was that he couldn’t tell where he was with as little as he could see, and so he was just drifting off in a random direction in the hopes it was the most fortunate one.

The water was now mid-thigh, and Joxter was struggling to move. He made sure to keep the basket above the murky flood as much as possible, though silently apologized to Snufkin when his foot would slip on a rock he couldn’t see or the water would jostle him enough to throw him off balance, and he’d accidentally let his arm drop momentarily and wet the bottom of the basket.

It didn’t make sense. Even the rushing waters of the flood didn’t quite sound like the water from his forebodings, though it was close. He wondered if that meant the flood wasn’t what he’d been warned about, but then what was it? He couldn’t imagine something worse at the moment than getting caught wading through slowly rising flood waters that threatened to carry him and Snufkin off at any given notice.

Did that mean they’d survive the flood? Could Joxter look forward to that at least?

Regardless, he couldn’t allow himself hope just yet lest he waver in his task. He had to find safety as soon as possible, but as the water caressed his hips, climbing a tree and hoping for the best was starting to look like the best option. He wasn’t sure how dry Snufkin would stay in that basket through a copious downpour, but getting a little soaked safe in a treetop was far better than drowning in the currents below.

He looked around, taking a moment to assess which tree would be best. After only allowing himself a few seconds of contemplation, he decided on a tree just a little further up ahead that looked reasonably tall and sturdy enough that the wind wasn’t tossing it around too much. He started walking towards it, extending his claws in preparation to climb when he was just a few feet away. All he had to do was scuttle to a high enough branch, tie himself and Snufkin tightly to it, and wait out the storm. It would be a rough night and even rougher few following days waiting for the flood waters to recede, but they’d survive. Joxter was sure of it.

Then, just as he was about to touch the tree, something changed. The rush of the flood waters increased ten-fold in volume and he felt the tides shift viscously where they cradled his body. The earth shook with fervent vigor and the horrid realization of what was happening hit him just a second before he turned his gaze and watched helplessly as a massive tidal wave of water came hurdling out of the horizon.

Joxter’s eyes blew wide and he was sure he’d never felt more panic in his life. Quickly, he threaded his arm through the handle of the basket before rushing to sink his claws into the tree bark, using whatever fragile might he had left to try and scramble up the tree before the tide reached them. He managed to grab onto the lowest branch before slinking himself up on it, feeling the water recede down his legs until it was left behind below him. Then, he hurried to the next branch, then the next branch, nearly slipping a few times with how frantic his movements had become. The wave was getting closer and the top of the tree was not quite close enough. He continued pulling himself up onto branch after branch without a single moment of rest, just barely making it to the top of the tree before the wave crashed against it.

But Joxter had miscalculated. While the tree was tall, the wave was even taller – a fact that hadn’t become noticeable until the split second before it finally reached them, bending the tree almost in half and submerging Joxter and Snufkin as Joxter tried desperately to cling, only for his strength to fail against that of wrathful waters. 

His claws dug marks into the bark until he was pulled back so far that there was nothing to cling to anymore. He felt himself get propelled into the depths of the flood, tossed about like a weightless doll against the harshly dragging currents. He couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore as he struggled to right himself, fighting against the water for all the good it would do.

He hit something. He didn’t know what it was, but the water hurdled him right into it, knocking his head against the side. On instinct, he gasped, feeling his panic increase exponentially when he inhaled nothing but murky water. Then, he couldn’t stop, hyperventilating as he drowned, certain that he was about to meet his untimely demise. Just as his vision started to blacken, he felt the rush of water calm down a little, followed by someone grabbing at his coat. He was pulled out of the water and onto something solid, staring up at the darkened sky with no more real sense to make of what happened. The only thing Joxter could truly focus on before he passed out was the lack of a basket handle strung around his arm.

When he woke up again, he was staring up at a ceiling. Through his groggy and disoriented state, he took in his surroundings, coming to the conclusion that he was in a house, lying on a bed, and he could hear vague rustling coming from the other side of the door. A moment later, it opened, and in popped a mildly distracted snork with a pitcher of water in her paw.

She took a few steps into the room, humming a tune to herself before finally looking at Joxter and realizing he was awake. She startled before regaining her composure and rushing over to his side.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, setting the pitcher down on the nightstand and helping Joxter sit up.

“What happened?” he hoarsely asked, cringing in pain at how dry his throat was.

The snork poured him a glass of water and he took it, taking a sip as she answered.

“When the flood came in, my husband and some other men from the valley went out to search for anyone that got caught in it. They said they found you floating nearby and just barely caught you in time to rescue you! You were on the brink of death, they said!”

All at once, the memories of the event flooded back into Joxter with a force that knocked all the air from his lungs.

“Snufkin!” he yelled, standing up, dropping the still full cup of water, and rushing over to the window. The waters had already receded, and the sky was vibrant and blue.

“Mister?”

He ran back over to the snork and grabbed her shoulders to frantically ask, “A basket! I had a basket! Where is it?”

“You didn’t have a basket,” she said, matter-of-factly, “All you had on you was the stuff in your pockets.”

“No one found a basket?” he asked, voice cracking.

“They were looking for people, not baskets. Can’t imagine why you’re so hung up on a basket of all things. You’re lucky to even be alive,” the snork huffed.

“How long ago was the flood?” Joxter asked.

“You were in and out for about three days. The waters finally went down this morning.”

Three days. At some point after getting dragged out of the tree, the picnic basket with Snufkin inside had slipped out of Joxter’s arm and for three days – three days! – Joxter had been uselessly sleeping the time away safe in a bed while Snufkin was out there somewhere waiting for Joxter to find him.

…

Was he waiting? The snork’s words from earlier hit Joxter full force just then – that he’d barely been alive when the rescuers found him. If that was true, then what did that mean for Snufkin? If he was still somehow in the basket, no one would have bothered to pick it up, and if they’d found a little mumrik boy, then why wasn’t he resting with the other mumrik who was very obviously his father? Where was Snufkin?

“Were there any other survivors?” Joxter asked, struggling to stand on legs that might as well have been made of jelly.

“There was a Hemulen they found floating on a branch, but that’s it,” she said, looking Joxter over carefully, “I sure hope no one else had been out there. Rest those poor souls in that case.”

Joxter nearly collapsed then and there, only steadied by the snork’s quick and gentle paws rushing to keep him up. She helped him back onto the bed and sat him down, offering him another glass of water, which he didn’t take.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Snufkin was fine. He was perfectly fine, alive, and waiting for his papa to come back for him, hug him tight, and never let go again. Joxter was sure of that.

He was sure of that?

He was sure of that.

He’d been sure of and wrong about a lot of things lately.

On unsteady feet, he jumped back up and dashed out of the house, ignoring the snork’s frantic calls after him. He had no idea where he was, but it didn’t matter. Snufkin was out there somewhere and Joxter had to find him. He had to.

Snufkin was waiting.

Joxter ran, head swiveling in every direction, eyes sharp and ears listening for any tiny cries or the pitter patter of little feet along the muddy ground. He ran until he was out of breath and his chest burned from exertion, and even then continued on. It wasn’t until black started creeping into the corners of his vision and he felt like he was about to pass out again that he finally stopped and took a breath, hunched over and struggling to take air into his overworked lungs.

Then, he noticed it – the faint trickle of a nearby river.

The apprehension seized his body like chains wrapping around his muscles, and just moving his feet further towards the source of the sound was an act of defiance in and of itself, and not one he particularly enjoyed. He trudged onward, mind numb to all further sensation as the sound of the water grew nearer, more defined, until he was listening to it with rapt clarity. Every nerve in his body grew cold with fright as he rounded the bend and found the river, leaking tears in immediate understanding how familiar the sound was to him.

He followed the river downward for what felt like an eternity, hoping to catch a glimpse of red hair amongst the blue and green hues of the surrounding woodlands. The trickling tones remained at the forefront of his mind as if mocking him; berating him for thinking this was ever something he could try and avoid.

He wanted to find Snufkin. He wanted him to be safe, and yet deep down inside, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. The only thing he could imagine was Snufkin getting lost in the flood, tossed from the basket or otherwise, to find himself caught in the chokehold of mother nature as she mercilessly pulled the life from him in agonizing increments. Joxter barely survived. Snufkin was much smaller and much more fragile than Joxter, and Joxter barely survived.

Joxter didn’t find Snufkin, but he did find the picnic basket.

It was lying broken and battered along the river’s edge with the lid long since ripped off and missing. Joxter shakily picked it up and turned it over to look inside, though he knew he wouldn’t find anything in there.

There were no other survivors, the snork had said. There were no others.

There were no others?

“Snufkin?” Joxter whispered, like the name would carry into the wind and bring back his little boy.

Snufkin.

It was just a basket. Snufkin was fine. Snufkin was perfectly fine. He was still waiting.

There was blood in the basket.

Joxter hadn’t noticed it at first in his mournful daze, but there were splotches of red scattered along the wicker. He once again took in the battered state of the basket. It had hit something. Snufkin had been inside. There were no other survivors. They’d found no other survivors.

It hit Joxter all at once – that agonizing sorrow; the anguish as it ripped holes in his chest. He could physically feel the grief clutch his heart and tear it bit to bit like the hungry fangs of a wolf into tender flesh, and it was a surprise he didn’t keel over then and there from the excruciation alone. Tears flooded his vision and the world around him was still and silent as far as he was concerned save for his own screams as they fell muffled against his numbing senses. He was clutched over on the ground, though he didn’t remember kneeling down. The basket had been harshly thrown into the river to be carried further downstream, though Joxter didn’t remember throwing it. He laid down at some point in the mud, certain he’d never get up again. He wanted to lie there until the overwhelming heartache rotted his body completely, leaving him as nothing more than food for the worms. At least then he’d be able to keep someone alive.

It got dark at some point, though time felt so meaningless to him anymore. Then, he closed his eyes and when he opened them again it was morning, and he wished he hadn’t opened them again. He wished the snork’s husband hadn’t saved him. He wished that damn flood would have at least taken them both if it had to take either of them at all.

Joxter’s body survived the flood, but the rest of him might as well have been carried off with the rushing waters. His heart and soul felt like they’d been stolen from him – lost forever in the tiny body claimed too early by the world that once cradled it to sleep. Joxter closed his eyes again and all he could see in the darkness was a familiar smile – the light of which was hopelessly dimming the more Joxter willed it to come back. Maybe, if he lied there long enough, his tears would form a flood of their own to finally right the wrong of the previous one and reunite him with his baby.

There was something in his coat. He could feel it stabbing his hip where it was trapped between him and the grass. He turned slightly and slowly reached down to shove a paw in his pocket, feeling the ridges of a seashell trapped within the lining.

Snufkin was still waiting.

That was the only thought that passed through the filter in his mind, and it was the only thing that managed to get him to pull his face out of the mud and start moving again. Snufkin was waiting for him. Joxter at least had to find his body, if only to hug Snufkin one last time should he ever be able to let go again at all.

He walked for ages, looking around in every corner of the forest for Snufkin, and yet as the hours passed, he found nothing. He crossed paths with a few worried passersby on occasion, but unless they could give him a hint as to what happened to Snufkin, he ignored their concerns about his condition and continued his own search. He couldn’t care less about his own needs. Nothing concerned him more in that moment than finding his son.

Because Snufkin was waiting for him.