OOOOOOH BOY. Where do I start with this one? Well, since doesn't use tags, how about some warnings first: Mentions of PTSD, Non-verbal characters, trauma, abuse and panic attacks. Also this will become Snufmin, but not until a lot later so you'll have to wait a while.

The forest was like a stranger to him.

It felt too alive, full of scents and sounds that had long since become unfamiliar. The foreignness of his surroundings was worrying, but the darkness was recognizable enough. Everything beyond formed a muddled cacophony of stimuli he wouldn't try to untangle.

There was blood running down his arm. The torn muscle throbbed, protesting his movements but still he wouldn't stop, his feet carrying him ever forward in uncoordinated steps and struggles. His legs got tangled in something, it pulls at the remains of his clothes and he pulls back, harder, sharp. The branches had thorns that cut into his skin.

They were not on his trail anymore. He was unsure of how he knows, his senses having become duller and more narrow than they used to be, put to other uses than that which they were originally meant for; hunting and playing and living instead of the pure survival instinct coursing through his veins right now.

But he knew still, there were no footfalls or hurried breathing beside his own. Small creatures skittering endlessly between the leaves or the undergrowth, but no baying of something bigger and more dangerous, tracking him by the splashes of blood in his wake.

He was getting tired though, the strain nearly unbearable, and staying out in the open would be a death sentence.

He found a hollow, a small space just fit for somebody of his current stature and, making himself even smaller than he did with them, curled himself up in the tight space, his own body heat his only buffer against the slowly chilling air.

Winter was coming on strongly this year. Snufkin had only left Moominvalley a few weeks ago, first trailing south for several days until he was certain he had gone far enough to be in warmer climates. Then, he had done what he usually did on his excursions - pick a direction by some arbitrary rule like which way the wind blows or how many minnows swim down the stream and start walking.

Even so, despite being miles away from the sea and surely already far enough inland to avoid the frightful breezes such a large body of water usually harbored, it was getting colder. The air felt chillier than usual, more often than not Snufkin found the woods quieter and more deserted than he was accustomed too, most smaller animals having already gone into hibernation for the season.

The notion had him thinking fondly of his friend, probably tucked away into his comfy bed by now, dreaming about some summer adventure or another. One they had undertaken in those past few months perhaps, or an entirely new one yet to come.

He pulled his scarf up over his face in some embarrassment, despite there being nobody around to witness it. Snufkin didn't like letting his thoughts stray such paths, especially not when he was so far out from the valley anyway.

He busied himself with other things instead, like where he should sleep this night or what his new song should be about. He probably had months yet to figure that out, but Snufkin was a creature of leisure and often liked to take his time to get things done. He had found there was rarely an occasion where true hurrying was required. And if there ever was, it lay outside the extents of his interests.

A sudden intrusion pulled him out of his thoughts, a sound that didn't belong. It was soft, barely a whimper, but he had keen hearing, one of the many reasons large crowds of people didn't often sit well with him, and so it stood out to him clearly against the more peaceful twittering of the birds among the branches or the flowing of the brook not far-off.

For a few moments he waited, curious. There was nothing unusual to be heard anymore, and Snufkin was just beginning to think he might have been imagining things, what with the daydreaming and all, when another, slightly louder noise startled him.

He followed its general direction with ease, pushing branches out of the way and stepping carefully through untamed undergrowth and the air smelled funny, kind of stale and metallic.

It smelled like blood.

In a small clearing up ahead there was a partly hollow tree trunk, the depth of which Snufkin was unable to determine by mere observation alone. All he knew was that it wasn't empty. That something alive and scared and most likely wounded had taken it as its refuge.

Putting down his bag, taking a few steps at a time, Snufkin slowly approached the make-shift shelter. The light was dim, the sun setting blindingly red these days and painting the sky with the colors of fresh bruises, but he could still make out the shape of something curled up inside the hollow. The ground in front was streaked with nearly-dried blood.

He blinked, and two curiously bright eyes blinked back at him.

"Hullo there." He tried softly, crouching onto the ground with one hand braced against the earth to keep his balance, fingers brushing against a spread of dead leaves. The creature didn't stir, but regarded him with weary eyes.

Snufkin was unsure of what it was, certainly not a Creep since those tended to make a lot more noise, especially when injured. It moved slightly, the unmistakable sound of claws dragging against the inside of the tree, getting caught on the tiny snags in the wood. Since it didn't talk it was most likely an animal then, perhaps a stray cat.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, a rhetorical question of course, but even less intelligent creatures normally responded well to a friendly voice, and Snufkin had quite gotten into the habit of talking to the various inhabitants of the forest. (Not because he was lonely. The opposite in fact, since being able to talk without some kind of response was proof of his solitude more than anything).

He waited for a bit, seeing if the little thing could be coaxed out with patience, but when that didn't seem to work he reached into his pocket. There were just a few pieces left, all crumbled up and he held them out on an upturned palm, waiting for the creature's natural instinct for food to outweigh its hesitation.

"They're good, I promise." He said, lowering the cookies slightly. "Though not terribly healthy I'm afraid." Moominmamma had baked them the same morning he left the valley and had naturally refused to let him go without a small stockpile to serve as provisions on the long way.

Still though, the poor thing seemed too caught in a stupefied state, practically oozing mistrust. When his arm started to hurt from holding it upright for too long Snufkin sighed and shoved the crumbs back into his coat pocket. "I guess you're not hungry."

The sun had dipped below the horizon at an almost alarming rate, the daylight all but gone suddenly. Normally Snufkin didn't mind continuing his journeys through the night, sometimes he preferred it that way, only settling somewhere if he really liked it.

But today had been rather tiring, and as such he decided here would do just fine. He strolled back to his bag and set about putting up his tent and making a fire. The creature observed him in quiet speculation, not making any more noise.

He had been fishing yesterday and there were two of his catch left over, rolled up in paper to keep them from dirtying up his few other possessions. Snufkin cooked them both, looking over at the tree trunk from time to time to gauge if the smell would be enough to lure the strange animal out of hiding, but it sat unmovingly, burrowed deep into the hollow.

Just one of the fish served him well enough for dinner of course, he left the other one on the ground in front of the hole before crawling into his tent and trying to get some sleep.

The next morning it was gone. Either Snufkin had slept exceptionally deep or the creature was a lot more silent in movement than he had expected. There were fresh splotches of blood among the disturbed foliage, deep red drops hardly visible against the similar autumn-y hues.

"You're hurt." He said matter-of-factly, crouching in front of it once more. "You want any help with that?" He reached one hand forward into the darkness.

It made a noise then, high-pitched and angry and Snufkin barely pulled back in time when it lashed out with sharp claws, swiping at the air.

He laughed. "Guess not."

The morning was still fresh, with dew on the grass and a slight breeze. He took out his fishing gear and went the short way to the brook, settling on a rock and enjoying the general peace and quiet of the end of the season.

With winter being uncommonly fierce this year, maybe he should consider going more southwards still. It would be interesting, and as long as he kept counting the days of the journey he could make sure he would be back in the valley by the first days of spring.

There wasn't technically any pressing need for him to make it so, of course. But he had an obligation to Moomintroll, and others were always so certain to remind Snufkin of how much his friend missed him when he was late in coming home. Coming back, that is.

He tugged at the line, feeling it snag on something solid. Even bracing his feet against the muddy soil and pulling with all his might didn't dislodge it, so he found himself wading into the shallow instead. The water was practically freezing and Snufkin's hands were numb by the time he managed to untangle the hook, wetness seeping into his boots.

Returning to camp quickly, luckily there was still enough wood left to rekindle the fire. He took off his boots and put them upside down near the crackling flames, warming his hands as well. The creature stirred for a moment but settled again and watched him.

As soon as he could feel his fingers again, Snufkin took out his harmonica, deciding he might as well play something to while away the time. He started off with the previous spring song he wrote, hoping it would inspire him for the new one. Then, Moomin's favorite, and in his head he could clearly picture the troll singing the words with him, about tails and bows and jails.

Eventually he just played whatever came to mind, something soft and comforting. The wounded animal in the tree shifted again, and for a moment Snufkin thought it might come out, but no such thing happened.

When his boots were quite dry and the sun high in the sky, he started packing up his things. It went quickly, because there just wasn't a lot, and then he left the bag in the middle of the clearing to approach the hollow one last time. In the light of day he could see the creature had retreated deeper into its hiding place, though its eyes remained remarkably visible and bright.

"If you're sure you don't need any help, I'm leaving now." He said softly, and the thing didn't make a noise but cocked its head questioningly. Snufkin was sure that would be the end of it, but as he took a step back, the animal shuffled forwards slightly. Another step, followed by more shuffling.

Then suddenly, it sprang forward. He stumbled back a bit, startled by its quick movement. For a thing that was clearly injured and had lost a lot of blood, it was surprisingly nimble. He watched in silent trepidation as it unfurled to its full height, pulling more and more of itself out of the hole.

It was a lot larger than Snufkin had anticipated, making him wonder distantly how it had managed to even curl up in such a way as to fit in the tree trunk at all. It raised itself up slowly then, stretching in such a way that made it seem as if the mere movement hurt, but as it did he could clearly see its height was similar to his own, give or a take a few inches.

More than that, it was human.

Or humanoid, at least.

In stark contrast to Snufkin himself, who could (and certainly often would) be mistaken for a human most of the time, as long as he kept his hat on and his tail tucked under his coat, this man had a distinctly human shape but it was also clear to see that that was where the resemblance stopped.

His eyes were pale fire, burning and intense in hues of blue and grey. He stared now, cautiously, as if assessing the situation calmly and with some detachment, deciding on the next best course of action.

On his face, covered by an ill-matched array of various small scars, were curious markings and there was fur covering his bare feet and bloodstained hands, the claws that had lashed out at him earlier.

Snufkin waited, either because he didn't know what to do or because he was curious about what would happen. He wasn't certain which. The stranger stood for a few seconds, his gaze drifting around the small clearing, before finally focusing on the boy in front of him.

Then, his knees promptly buckled and he toppled over onto the ground.

Snufkin cried out, kneeling down in front of the man, who didn't make any noise, but it was plain as day that he was in considerable pain. He was bleeding from various wounds, seeping into his disheveled and torn clothing. His arms and legs seemed to have taken the brunt of the abuse, with lingering cuts and bruises of various sizes in sickening colors. The scars on his face looked similar in nature, but older, like they had been inflicted a long time ago. The front of his crumpled button-up shirt was also dirty and bloody.

"Hey," Snufkin tried to reach out and the man growled at him, a low guttural sound. He had braced himself on his elbows, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. Snufkin could see he had sharp canines, larger and more dangerous than his own fangs. "Don't do that." he said firmly.

The man glared at him for a moment, probably assessing if this new situation was a threat. Apparently he didn't think Snufkin was of particular danger to him because he stilled, expression becoming neutral again, blinking up at him. His tail swayed from side to side cautiously though.

"That's better." Snufkin said, for he was not terribly frightened. He had been bitten by worse things than half-feral tramps roaming the woods before. Little My, for instance.

Upon closer inspection, the rest of the stranger didn't seem much better off than his clothes. Even beneath several layers of dirt, his face looked gaunt. His ribcage was fragile, every breath fluttering in his chest unsteadily. His limbs were lanky and tense. Snufkin could only wonder how long he had been out here. Maybe he has had a hard time finding food in the wild?

"Will you sit still so I can patch you up, at least?" He didn't wait for a response, getting up to go and search his bag for first aid supplies. He thanked the stars for the Moomin family once again. Just a few years ago Snufkin would probably not have anything with him, making do with whatever nature supplied. After Moomin had found out though, and he had been clearly horrified by the thought of his best friend traveling all winter without so much as a bandage on him, he had pretty much forced the Mumrik to at least pack the basics.

The man had taken his time in painstakingly pushing himself up into a seated position, though still hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the ground. He stared at Snufkin as he went about wetting a stray piece of cloth with water from his flask.

"This will probably hurt." He warned but the man didn't say anything. He wasn't even looking at him anymore, seemingly having dismissed him as a threat altogether now and instead gazing carefully at their surroundings. When he looked up at the sun, he squinted, as if unaccustomed to the brightness.

Snufkin didn't comment, paying attention to what he was doing. The man didn't pull away from his touch or lash out at him again, ignoring him mostly. When the worst of the dried blood was dealt with and the man's visible wounds were relatively clean, Snufkin bandaged them carefully, as well as he knew how to. He hadn't treated much worse than a scraped knee or shallow cut on himself.

"What about," he began, reaching out towards the man's chest area. His clothes would suggest larger and perhaps more serious wounds underneath the fabric. But the stranger shot up one hand that caught him around the wrist, stopping all movement. The grip was firm, just on the painful side of too firm really, and Snufkin tried not to wince.

For just a second the man looked him in the eyes, slitted pupils examining his face closely. Then he pushed Snufkin's wrist back towards him and let go, making himself perfectly clear without the use of words.

As Snufkin righted himself, the stranger angled his head up to watch him. His hair was long and badly kept, even by Mumrik standards, falling just below his shoulders and slightly greasy. It was a stark black color, in contrast to his light-toned irises. The new angle exposed the man's throat, which had a strange mark on it like irritated and raw skin. The result similar to what an animal would have, pulling hard and frequently on a collar, Snufkin realized, feeling the anger well up suddenly in his gut. He wasn't the type of person to let rage overtake him, but this-

"So, do you have a name then?"

Once more the creature's attention had drifted away from him, surveying the woods at large, the sun filtering through the branches above them and the final leaves falling to the ground from time to time. Even here, it would start freezing soon, and Snufkin didn't feel like being around when that happened.

He pulled at the brim of his hat, trying to collect his thoughts. Clearly leaving this atypical fellow to roam the forest all by himself and most likely get into a bunch of trouble if not worse was not the responsible or sensible thing to do. And Snufkin had always thought of himself as pretty sensible, despite other's opinions to the contrary.

On the other hand, he wasn't a babysitter (one brief mishap with a couple of young Woodies aside) and wasn't in the habit of taking traveling companions. That was kind of the entire point of his leaving the Valley after all.

He didn't even like people.

"Look, I'm going further south." He said eventually. "It might be better for you to do likewise. If you stay here you will die."

The man looked up at him with the same blank expression he had been wearing from the moment they met (save the snarling that one time), giving no indication of having understood anything the boy had said. Maybe he spoke a different language?

Snufkin sighed. Ultimately, people weren't his responsibility or forte. "Safe travels."

He turned to leave, but didn't even get the first step down before he felt something pull at his coat. The man was clutching the fabric tightly, he was still averting his eyes but there was something desperate on his face now, the most Snufkin had seen him emote as of yet. Fear?

There went his chances of having a peaceful winter then.

"Maybe you would like to come with me?"

The man nodded carefully, letting go of the coat in favor of pushing himself off the ground. He held himself awkwardly, defensive, his body language betraying his mistrust. As if he was expecting to be set upon by some invisible enemy at any given moment.

"Can you talk at all?" Snufkin asked, putting all his effort into trying to smile reassuringly but it wasn't like the man was looking at him anyway. He did nod his head again though.

"I see. That's good." He started walking slowly and the man followed, hovering just in his peripheral vision. "I'm Snufkin, by the way."

The man opened his mouth and at first the sound that came out was barely audible, strained and hoarse, like maybe he hasn't used his voice in a long time.

"J-Joxt-" It turned into a rasping cough, though it was clearly more than physical strain keeping the words at bay, and he shook his head.

There was a sudden feeling of strangeness that befell Snufkin right then. A distant memory that shimmered right below the surface of his consciousness, like a dream you can't really remember the details of after waking up except that it was tragic somehow.

But it was gone just as quickly and he smiled instead, wondering why he felt as if he was forgetting something important.

"It's nice to meet you, Joxt."

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