Where at first the boy's tales of the valley had sounded too elusive for him to catch, he was feeling the emergence of curiosity in his own heart take place. He hadn't cared for distant lands, and meadows green with flowers and dew. He hadn't bothered to listen as closely, feverishly searching for his own longing in that unknown truth.
But he hadn't found what he had been searching for in the end, instead stumbling on something meaningless taken shape. There was importance in other things, if he made the effort to find that importance for himself. Or perhaps just create it from scratch.
While he knew the blood in his veins would not be stilled until his ache for that loss was settled, the boy has shown him there was security in the future. Escaping had been the start for him, not merely a means to an end.
In days of chilly weather and warming sun, he listened to the boy's stories and recounted there was more in the world than that which was vanished. The imaginary plains of the valley became more real to him, their colors burn vibrant behind his eyelids. And while it might not be the flowers or the river, it would become a home to him in time he knew.
If the boy was there, anything could become a home still.
They left the flowers behind them on a misty morning when winter was just past its peak.
Cold had not reached this place in the way it had others, but the weather had still become steadily more bitter during their stay. The people spoke of a dismal harvest and the curse of the mountain, while elders assured them that this was something prone to happen from time to time. When the conditions were just right the wind blew in over the ocean and carried with it frost that blended with the air. Flowers had started to shed their petals or closed up to hide from winter's wrath and the animals had taken to napping in their holes all day long.
Fires were lit in every house, the plumes of smoke from the chimneys darkening the sky and giving it a gritty texture. Joxt turned around to stare at them as they left, a vague smile of contentment on his face. Snufkin knew he had liked it there, but had hope that he would like the valley even more still. The weather would only get better from here on out and the journey home should be an easy one.
For once, Snufkin was surely eager to return even more than he usually was. His spring song had been finished – courtesy of Joxt's help – and after all the peril they had encountered during their travel he looked forward to settling down in one spot and doing absolutely nothing frightful or unchancy for a while. Not that this would be likely, taking into account Moomin and his other friends and all the escapades they would get up to, but a mumrik could dream.
"We could either use the same paths on our way back or go a different road. What do you think?" he asked Joxt as they started walking. If there was one thing Snufkin would always find without a map, it was Moominvalley.
He wasn't sure Joxt would even have an opinion on the matter, he always seemed so offhand about their plans. This time, however, he knitted his brow and gave the prospect serious consideration. Fastest way, he decided.
Snufkin agreed.
Without their detour to the sea, it wouldn't take long at all to get back to the valley. At the pace they were currently going, they could be there by the very first day of spring even and surprise his friends just as they would awaken from hibernation. Snufkin could already imagine Moomin's face, he had never been that early before.
As they ventured deeper within the forest and further north the temperature dropped at an unexpected rate. Snufkin saw Joxt draw his scarf closer to his face, his breaths leaving his mouth in a small cloud of vapor. Breathing on his own hands, Snufkin's exhales had taken on a similar quality. With some effort, Snufkin could keep from shivering.
"Do you think it rained here recently?" he asked, the only reason he could think of why it would be so much colder here. Joxt nodded and then pointed ahead.
All the leaves had long since fallen and through the curtain of stark branches that intertwined in patterns beyond comprehension, Snufkin could see a covering of white. They moved forward, at first enthralled at this strange phenomenon. It was as if somebody had come by with a tin of white paint and had done their best to cover the trees in their idea of art. But upon closer inspection, Snufkin realized it was instead something most akin to snow.
"Rime ice..." he muttered. He had only seen it once or twice before, which is why the sight had seemed so unusual to him.
Joxt looked at the branches curiously and when he stood on the tips of his toes he was just able to reach out and touch one of the tree limbs sticking out near his head. His poke shook loose the frozen water and send it cascading down in light, powdery trinkets. Due to Joxt's body heat, it melted into wet drops immediately and he shook his head vigorously to get rid of them. Snow? he asked.
"Almost," Snufkin answered. "Rime ice is when it rains during winter while it's not cold enough for real frost and the water sticks to the branches. It only happens where it's too frigid for the water not to freeze but too warm for proper snowfall. However, there should be some around here."
Snufkin started glancing around their immediate area while Joxt repeated his experiment. This time he took hold of a branch properly and pulled it downward hard, which only managed to cause a bigger avalanche. His hair-ends had become soaked already.
Spying the small inlet of a rabbit hole, Snufkin carefully put his hand inside and scooped up the snow he had correctly deduced might be inside. When they clogged up their warrens for their winter sleep, it formed a convenient cavity for water to collect in while it rained. And if it was cold enough for rime ice, sometimes that meant the small pools would become snow before they could be reabsorbed by the earth. Without any snow needing to fall from the sky.
He balled up the snow in both hands, pressing it together to form a compact ball. Then he turned around and looked at Joxt, who was still distracted by the branches. Holding his breath to make sure he wouldn't miss, Snufkin aimed it at his face.
The shot was one to be proud of since it hit Joxt right in the jaw. He startled like a cat would, jumping about a foot in the air and then crouching down low to the ground. Snufkin laughed loudly. "Did you just hiss at me?"
Much less entertained by his joke, Joxt glowered at him. The snow clung to his forehead, giving the threatening stance more of a comical edge to it. His normally pale complexion had reddened around the nose and cheeks because of the cold.
Joxt was more perceptive than Snufkin gave him credit for though because in the next moment he was scooping snow from a nearby trench in the earth himself – one Snufkin had not even noticed earlier. He only jumped out of the way just in time to avoid getting his joke paid back in kind. Not satisfied with Snufkin bypassing his retaliation so nimbly, Joxt advanced on him. Snufkin held up his hands. "Truce?"
Either Joxt did not know the meaning of the word or he had decided peace was never an option. He tackled Snufkin with little effort and the air left his lungs in a little gasp as the full weight of Joxt dashed into him. Snufkin fell onto his back, though he hardly felt it when Joxt instantly followed it up by shoving a whole handful of snow into his face.
Had he not been wide awake already, that would have definitely done the trick. Snufkin sputtered for a moment and rubbed at his stinging eyes, but Joxt was helpful enough to get off him and pull him into a seated position, content to have had his revenge.
"You're terrible," he managed to bemoan through the snow stuck in his mouth. It tasted absolutely offensive, Snufkin was pretty sure he had gotten at least one rotting autumn leaf in his mouth.
You started it, Joxter said. Snufkin couldn't deny that was true. I just finished it.
"How gracious of you." Blowing on his fingers again, since they felt stiff from the cold, Snufkin smiled. "Next time we find some proper snow and try an actual snowball fight instead of an improvised farce."
Joxt's scarf landed on his hands and with quick motions, Joxt wrapped the fabric around Snufkin's fingers. Then he brushed the snow from Snufkin's hair, his skin pleasantly warm despite what they had just been doing.
The act had a certain fondness to it which made Snufkin's heart clench as if caught in some invisible vice. He thought distantly of Moominmamma and how she cared for others despite them not asking. How she cared for Moomin.
Snufkin didn't want to think about that because it felt so unfair for him to do.
"Do you ever get cold?" he asked, hoping it would get his mind of the dangerous musing.
Joxt shrugged, he was smiling and his hair had curled even more than usual thanks to getting wet. We'll find out, he signed.
Despite what they had decided on earlier, Snufkin thought it warranted to deviate a tiny bit from the route they had previously taken.
He didn't think Joxt would blame him. Neither probably felt much like passing through the large town with the market and bookshop that they had visited on the way to the flowers – Snufkin certainly didn't. The last time they had been there hadn't ended so well for either of them.
Their new direction took them along a more quiet, cut-off path. Instead of the bustling streets and stone-hewn buildings, they found themselves in a much smaller village. One with thatched roofs and clay houses. Smoke still hung heavy in the air here from the many fires burning in metal baskets and while it was smaller, there was a certain excitement hanging in the air. It looked like they had managed to run right into a winter festival taking place.
Joxt had become more accustomed to people over their time spent near the peony field. Perhaps he would never be one for crowds, such as Snufkin himself wasn't. At least he currently dealt better with being in close proximity to strangers, even humans. Though Snufkin could tell he always kept his guard up.
The townsfolk here were clearly celebrating something important to them. Snufkin initially thought it might be the winter solstice, but it was probably too late in the season for that. Paper lanterns were strung in the trees, along the roofs of the houses, and in some cases along fences. Children ran around bundled up in heavy clothes and with mittens and hats, some chasing each other with sticks or playing tag. Their parents stood around watching them fondly and talking among themselves while drinking warmed wine out of earthen cups. In the middle of the town where there was a cluster of cobblestone and a well used for drawing water, there stood something resembling a goat, surrounded by stands in the corners of the square.
It was a crude likeness at best: body made of logs tied together and sturdy twigs to serve as its limbs and horns. Straw was used to give the fake animal a bushy tale and all around it stood gifts wrapped in brown paper covered with a dark tarp that plenty of the younger kids were eyeing eagerly. Some kind of delayed yule celebration then?
Outside many of the houses, people had put up those improvised stands, wanting to profit from the increased foot traffic in their village from neighbors and travelers to earn some gold by selling wares or offering food and drink. Joxt stuck close to Snufkin's side. Losing him here would be hard since there weren't nearly as many people around as the other places they had been, but he understood Joxt wouldn't want to take the risk. They meandered for a very short period of time since it was already becoming dark and they would need to find a place to pitch the tent soon. Snufkin did not want to leave empty-handed, however.
Stumbling upon the festival had been a happy coincidence, but while they were here it was only appropriate he share a new experience with Joxt which he might never have had before, or simply didn't remember. Thankfully the man behind the stall that had caught his eye was not too opposed to trading, and gladly took the remainder of the dried meat Snufkin had managed to save up because Joxt always caught fresh prey.
In return, he was handed two pieces of a fluffy pastry with intricate glazed patterns on top. He handed one to Joxt, who sniffed it as he did all things, not accustomed to the sweet scent. At Snufkin's urging, he took a bite, then immediately a second and third as he tasted the honey-sweetened batter.
"It's good right?" Snufkin laughed when Joxt couldn't do much more than nod eagerly, hands full of cake and too occupied to answer. Then he bit down on something else entirely and a full-body shiver went through him.
Spitting what had disturbed his meal out into his hand in dismay, Snufkin saw the offending material was an uncooked bean.
"Good fortune," Snufkin said, answering the question he was sure Joxt would be posing if he had the ability to. Joxt raised an eyebrow, unable to comprehend how finding a hard, tooth-breaking bean in his cake could be a good thing. "There is a single bean put into every batch, then when it's cut up nobody knows where it is. Finding it in your piece means good luck for the coming year."
Joxt signed with one hand, making it hard to understand him, but Snufkin just about made sense of it. Strange tradition, Joxt had said.
"Humans are very strange creatures."
As they ate the church bell sounded six times and summoned by its call most of the children gathered around the goat statue set up in the middle of the square. As they watched an adult stepped forward, hardly deterred by the throng of excited kids around her legs, and pulled back the tarp to reveal the gifts laid out beneath. The youngest were allowed to go first, receiving their presents before running back to their parents waiting on the sidelines, eagerly showing it off. If their small fingers had trouble ripping the paper, another had to help them get it to tear.
Before long the entire town was filled with giggles and animated calls as toys were unwrapped and shown to friends, in some cases even traded if somebody else had received a toy they liked better. A little girl who had unwrapped a doll started showing it off to anybody who would give her the time of day, waving its cotton-filled arms at family and strangers both.
When all gifts had been handed out and the area more or less cleared out, the children send off to play once more, another woman stepped forward carrying a lit torch. Its flames seemed even brighter in the swiftly descending twilight, and as the onlookers watched with bated breath she held it to the straw that made up the goat's tail and set it aflame.
Snufkin darted a quick glance at Joxt's face, unsure how he could react since his last experience with fire had not been a positive one. But while his mouth had turned into a flat line and the amusement had left his eyes, he did not seem on the verge of having a panic attack. The flames spread to the rest of the fake goat quickly, engulfing it in a hot blaze that smelled vaguely of cedarwood. The noise was a soft crackling nearly drowned out by the people around them talking or singing and the children still hard-pressed to subdue their excitement, not paying attention to the scene.
Before long all that remained was ash and charcoal, dark pieces of nothing. Where Snufkin had been staring at the burning offering had left bright spots on his retinas, sparking in echoed colors each time he blinked. He felt Joxt's hand close around his own.
We go, Joxt said - one-handed again - and pulled him away from the village.
The smells and sounds faded almost instantly, as if they were stepping into a whole other world. From between the trees, nothing filtered through.
"Humans are very strange creatures," Snufkin repeated, unthinkingly and without much meaning.
Joxt turned his head and let go of him. Violent creatures.
Snufkin rubbed his hands against his coat, but they remained sticky from the cake. "Not all of them."
Enough of them to matter.
With no way to disagree, Snufkin simply kept silent as they walked into the night.
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