Becoming More _ Snufkin X OC Tilly

Chapter 1 - Tilly

Tilly was cold. She had been walking for the better part of the day, but even as she looked forward to being able to stop, the sinking sun did nothing for her nerves. It was going to be a harsh night. If it was anywhere as bad as yesterday, she would have to deal with the sharp winds beating against her tent.

She finally decided to stop a few hours before it would be nightfall: she needed to set up camp anyways. She took her large rucksack from her back and beat off the snow that had accumulated during her walk. Opening it, she pushed aside the many jars wrapped in fabric, muttering about the weight she would save if she were any good at her job. She brought out a small shovel about the length of her forearm. Getting to work on digging out the snow for her camp she often got too hot and had to stop. It's nice to get warm, but getting wet from sweat gets one in trouble real fast. Like Mufser, she thought. He had been a little boy from the last village she had stayed at. The poor boy had tried to keep up with the adults as they searched for more firewood. After working up a sweat, the hypothermia soon set in as the wind tore through the moisture on his skin.

It was lucky I had been there, he would have died. As Tilly finished clearing and began setting up her tent, she thought about home. High in the mountains, she had enjoyed hot summers swimming in the creeks and lakes. Winters were less fond in memory. Her family never hibernated, there was far too much to do to sleep. She loved Christmas and waking to fresh snow, but she felt like a big part of her world was missing. To feel the sun on her skin was bliss. Life in the cold was just dull.

She threw down her hammer in huff and stared at the half-pounded-in stake. The ground was frozen solid but the wind tonight wouldn't care about that. I'm lucky to be here, she thought, and she picked up the hammer to finish securing the tent.

**** (denotes a time, place, or character shift)

The next morning was just like most out here in the North. Tilly was playing her least favorite game of "should I get out of the sleeping bag now or can I survive another few minutes?", and she was losing. She sat up and shimmied her way out of the bag, careful not to flip herself. With one leg out, she padded the ground beneath her hammock looking for her smock to stand on. The long fire that had laid parallel to her had died down to a dull glow that was barely visible in the morning light. She held up a hand to block the beam that peered through the smoke escape. Uhg. Mornings.

After getting done with her morning necessities like building the fire, boiling water, and washing, Tilly starting getting dressed. She started with her grey stockings that were feeling the roughness of winter worse than her. They needed mending and soon, it would be a lot easier to keep her feet warm in their thick wool if her toes weren't poking through. Next was the burnt orange colored dress. It was her favorite piece of clothing. She had made it the year that travelling peddlers had brought all their beautiful dyes to sell. She traced a hand over the ruffled front with the embroidery she had spend so many hours stitching - straining her eyes by candlelight. Too bad no one ever sees it. She threw her yellow smock over her head and secured it with a belt at the waist. The smock covered most of the dress, keeping it clean and protecting the fabric from tears. All you could see of the orange dress was the sleeves, hem, and thin strips on the sides where the smock's fabric didn't connect. She undid the single braid from her long, brown hair and replaced it when she had finished brushing through the less than clean length. She couldn't wait for a proper bath. If that's to happen, I better find Moominvalley.