Moss (Crossposted from AO3)

In Which Snufkin Remembers

They parted ways after breakfast, with Moomin heading home and Snufkin heading into the woods. Snufkin decided he would spend the day experimenting with how far he could walk. Recovery had exhausted him and delayed his return. Though he had managed to make good time regardless, he had been embarrassed by how little distance he was covering and how soon he would have to make camp solely to rest properly.

He hated being idle. Not the idleness of fishing, or napping, or a quiet smoke while sprawled out in a field of flowers—but the idleness of simply resting, without the option to do otherwise and feeling as if even your own thoughts could destroy whatever precarious balance you were subject to. Resting in hospital beds and on the couch of a very kind Fillyjonk woman was not his style, especially as she had unsuccessfully tried to coax Snufkin into wearing a dress before finally compromising on the newer pair of trousers. Maybe that wasn't her fault, though, Snufkin wondered. Fillyjonks were so caught up in shoulds and oughts that they didn't tend to seem capable of seeing what was in front of them. He really had to give her credit, though. She eventually gave in even if she was perplexed.

It occurred to him, as he pushed up onto a boulder to rest, that he very easily could have died in January had it not been for her. Perhaps he should have been more patient with her being such a well-intentioned nuisance. Perhaps he ought to have written to her. He had her address, and if he was keeping the slip of paper where she had written it down for him in her very careful and precise hand, then he must have had a reason...

He shook his head, as if trying to throw the thoughts off. He wasn't ready to do that. Too many memories of awfulness attached to her, even if it was through no fault of her own.

He could have died, his brain insistently and very unhelpfully told him again. If he had not been subjected to the humiliation of medical care and heavy scrubbing and seemingly constant pills, he could have died.

All this trouble and with nothing to show for it.

He rolled back to lay himself out on the boulder and pulled his hat over his face.

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He had only succeeded in confirming that he still hadn't gotten his endurance back, and after an unsuccessful attempt at napping in the woods he wandered back down to the house, hoping Moomin would distract him. Moomin obligingly sat with him on the veranda with an assortment of crispbread and jams between them in the hopes that this would give him more energy. It didn't, really, but Moominmamma's jam wasn't something one turned down.

"So," Moomin began, terribly cautious, "the...things that we talked about, last night. I had questions, but—"

Snufkin, of course, had taken the opportunity to shove a large piece of jam-smeared crispbread into his mouth in the hopes it could get him out of talking. Rose hip jelly, he noted. It didn't hold its own very well against the rye in the bread, though it was pleasant.

Moomin's ears twitched in...annoyance? Impatience, for sure. Moomin knew perfectly well what Snufkin was doing.

"It's a bit difficult to discuss," Snufkin finally said.

"Yes, understandably." Moomin said. "But I want to know what makes it less difficult, beyond simply being there. What else can I do?"

Snufkin rubbed two fingers together, noting they were unpleasantly sticky. He didn't respond, and in fact behaved very much as if he hadn't even heard what Moomin said. Moomin pushed his paw along the table, reaching for Snufkin's own.

"I've got jam on me," Snufkin protested. Moomin took his paw back.

"I really do just want to help, you know."