Moss (Crossposted from AO3)

In Which Snufkin Returns

He arrived on the first warm spring day, as promised.

Moomin bounded down the path to meet him, crossing the footbridge (though this was not ordinarily how they did it) and running directly into Snufkin's arms, gripping him tightly as if to make sure he was still real. Snufkin held him much the same, tighter than he usually did.

"It's so good to see you," Moomin said, an edge to his voice suggesting he could very well cry. Snufkin breathed deeply and let it out with a sigh.

"It's a relief to be back."

"A relief?" Moomin asked, pulling back the slightest bit. "From what? Didn't you go adventuring as usual?"

Snufkin quietly debated how to explain himself.

"Hm, not exactly. It was a difficult winter. They can't always be pleasant."

Moomin didn't know what to say to that. He held Snufkin tightly again, swaying just a little bit, hoping he made his point well enough. Snufkin rested his head on Moomin's shoulder for a few minutes more, holding the hug for much longer than they usually did, though Moomin certainly didn't object.

"I should set up camp," Snufkin finally said, breaking the silence, and the hug. "And then, perhaps, I can join you for dinner?"

Moomin's ears flicked, reflecting his excitement.

"That would be lovely, Snufkin. I'll leave you to it."

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Snufkin was not a big fan of talking at dinner, though the whiskey Moominpappa offered him helped a bit. Even so, there was a sense of alienation as he watched the conversation go by, with everyone talking about their plans for the warm season. He couldn't fathom planning anything, even when all was going well, but it seemed an even stranger idea now.

He had been exhausted when he came back to the valley and had slept through the entire afternoon. This wasn't out of character for him at all—he valued a good midday nap, but he liked them when he chose to take them. The nap may as well have taken him that day.

"So, Snufkin," Moominpappa said. "Tell us what has been going on outside of our valley."

"Oh, much ado about nothing," Snufkin said, having seen the phrase on a marquee in the city and recognizing it as a Shakespeare title. 'Fuss and misery' had gotten old, and he figured Papa would appreciate a reference to something classic. "The cities are loud and everyone has quite forgotten how to enjoy themselves," including me , Snufkin chose not to say. "But the forests and fields are as peaceful as ever."

"Splendid! And it seems you've become quite well read in your time away."

"One could say that, yes."

Snufkin had been reading. Mostly fantasy novels and pamphlets gleefully promising liberation that had been handed to him on the street, both of which were fascinating to him mostly because they confirmed what he already had long ago figured out himself—the average person mattered deeply, and the joy in life could be found in refusing the pressure to deny one's nature. He politely left out that all of this reading had been in great part because his health had allowed for very little else.

"And what was the most interesting thing that you experienced this winter?"

Snufkin's paws wrapped firmly around the whiskey glass and froze there. 'Interesting' was not the word Snufkin would have used.

"I should like to save that for later," Snufkin said, desperately hoping that the discomfort didn't show in his voice. He sipped some of his whiskey, hoping it would soothe him or that at least the warm sting in his mouth and throat might distract him. It was heady. It felt promising. This answer seemed to satisfy Moominpappa, thankfully.