Moss (Crossposted from AO3)

In Which Snufkin Realizes

The later half of September brought an urgency to finish collecting berries for the season, and with it, a good excuse for Moomin and Snufkin to go wandering through the valley, gathering as much as they could carry and occasionally lightening the load by taking a little bit for themselves. As Moominmamma cooked everything down into jams, the two would reward themselves for their work with a lie-down in whatever place was still adequately warmed by the sun.

Very little would be said between the two of them as they harvested berries or lazed by the pond, with Snufkin intermittently drawing from his pipe and Moomin quietly piecing things together from the very brief recollections Snufkin did end up sharing. It was understood by Mamma and Pappa that they were not to be disturbed as they did this. They had very important remembering to do.

This time last year, Snufkin was often retreating to a patch of goldenrod on the far side of Mamma's garden. It was the only place where he felt any relief from the constant sense of unease that followed him. He was late by then, but not enough to offer him any kind of certainty. He hadn't wanted to be certain at the time, anyway.

The nights became properly cold, and Snufkin thought of the sweaters that Mamma made for the younger Snorkmaiden. He wrapped himself a little more tightly in his blanket at night, though he didn't particularly want the warmth for himself.

October came, and with it the crate of oranges that Pappa would send for every year so that Mamma could put up marmalade. Moomin and Snufkin sat with her in the kitchen, meticulously scrubbing and cutting down oranges, humming whichever songs came to mind. "Higgely-Piggely" organically made its way through once or twice as they worked. It seemed fitting, Snufkin thought, as he was looking forward to a long road indeed. Once the pot was adequately full, Mamma would let them take several of the remaining fresh fruits for themselves and wander off. They would usually settle over at Snufkin's campsite, huddling around the fire and taking turns peeling oranges. Snufkin's paws, being smaller and a little nimbler, made quicker work of them, and he would divvy them up carefully as they worked through their spoils together. He enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the sweetness of the citrus and the softness of his beloved friend. Even while actively nestling together, their touches were cautious. The time of year made everything feel fragile.

In October of the previous year, the goldenrod had become brittle, scratchy and grey. The blooms that used to comfort him had lost their scent and left Snufkin coated with seedy down if he tried to nest there. He was still late, and it was no longer uncertain. He had become sullen and he contemplated other, harsher plants. He had known he could have asked Mamma and been confident that she had answers for him, but he hadn't dared to bring it up. He didn't want her to know. He especially didn't want Moomin to know, dreading the idea that he would be fussed over, that the news would cause others to feel anticipation before he could reach his own conclusions. He didn't even want to know it about himself.

And what if the idea he was entertaining didn't work out? And what if it did?

Having lost his preferred hiding spot, he struggled to think it through. Better to put it all out of mind until he could be properly alone, which he could not do here.

At the very end of October, painfully aware of the passage of time, he had decided he couldn't tolerate the possibility of Moomin seeing him like this. He had left early for the winter, determined to sort everything out himself, or, failing that, to try to get away from everything for a while and come back as his old self. Moomin had been heartbroken, but hadn't dared to say anything to intervene. He knew better. He understood that sometimes things needed to be handled alone, and Snufkin had very clearly been struggling with something. So, Moomin comforted himself, it was for a very good reason and not to be taken personally.