A bit of a late chapter due to the holidays (happy new year all!) but here we are. Enojoy!
He had been in the valley once.
It must have been ages ago, before the child even. Patches in his memory blurred by the passing of time as much as the awful things as happened in between. When this recognition dawned, it was easy to cast away at first, choking it up to one of a few hundred reasons he could find for the slow unfurling in his head.
But then the bright blue house rose as a beacon from the mist stuck inside his mind.
He recognized it. Not with any tangible meaning, not with the power of words, names, images. But in the way one might smell the lingering vapor of a fire in the air, and recognize what it means to be burned.
The boy had not noticed and was too preoccupied with his greeting rituals to do so. He faltered, staring at the creature who had so casually acquainted himself with them. Similar to the house, wisps of white fur drew back from the recesses of his memory in a manner unlike anything before it, but he could not place them. They seemed friendly, warm – and they hugged the boy like a friend would, soft touches of ample longing. He recognized them from the boy's stories, surely.
He was mildly surprised to learn the house was theirs. Its red roof stood out starkly against the early spring sky, making him tilt his head up to look at it. A rusty wind vane spun rapid circles in the spring breeze. Staring at it was mesmerizing, hypnotic almost. There was something about that wind vane on the tip of his tongue.
The boy's pull on his arm disengaged his thoughts, leading him inside. His eyes traced the patterns along the wallpaper's yellowed edges, a well-lived house. The scent, unlike anything he was able to recall, unlike anything from the road. He noticed the way the boy inhaled deeply as well, savoring the same. It was easy for him to tell the boy cherished this place, as it was precious to him. The mere thought put him at ease.
But the big one's reaction to seeing him startled him, instinctively made him bristle. The cup shattered on the floor and the sound felt physical, a whip put into motion. The urge to flee pushed itself to the forefront of his mind, curled into his gut with odd familiarity. At home in the empty spaces between his ribs. The only thing anchoring his feet to the floor was the boy's fist still lightly curled around his clothing. A low sound of warning telling them not to approach.
And if there is hurt on their faces, he will not know what it means either.
Snufkin's eyes had followed the cup in its sudden descent, watching in rapt confusion as it broke on Moominmamma's kitchen floor. There suddenly was a lot of commotion and in the overlap of voices and confusion, it was hard for him to know why, though he guessed Joxt was the source of it. He usually was.
Then he noticed Moominpappa was getting up, taking a step forward, followed by the clenching of Joxt's muscles in defensiveness and a growl escaping his throat not unlike what Snufkin had heard that night with the humans. The memory still sent a shiver down his spine – the thought of something similarly unpleasant happening now was more than Snufkin could take. "Wait-" he said desperately, high-pitched voice barely rising over the tumult and it caused the others to stop, staring at him in uncertainty.
"I'm sorry," Snufkin said next, though he was unsure what he was apologizing for. "Joxt does not do well with strangers, you shouldn't scare him."
"Strangers?" Moominpappa laughed, though there was a tension there that felt misplaced, as if he could tell something was wrong already. "Why, we're hardly strangers! Though he sometimes acts it, not even one letter in over a decade, dear fellow?"
Joxt did not react. Snufkin felt compelled to do so for him. "I'm afraid that if you've met him, he wouldn't remember either way. He's lost his memories quite some time ago."
For a moment Pappa and Mamma both were at a loss for what to say, though Snufkin could tell this new particularity only increased their confusion. Mamma's eyes were drawn with worry, her paws held the dishcloth she had been busy with anxiously. Moomin was standing at her side, seemingly as bewildered as Snufkin felt. But Pappa had the most peculiar expression on his face of all. It could only be described as a mix between disappointment and concern, as he stood half-raised out of his chair. After a few tense seconds, the only thing he managed to bring out was a small pained sound under his breath.
"Oh dear..." Moominmamma recovered first, pushing the dishcloth down the front pocket of her apron and undoing the knot that kept it tied around her waist. Moomin titled his snout as she hung it on the peg, shaking her head woefully. "Oh dear," she repeated while putting a paw on her husband's shoulder. "You might do well sitting down for the explanation." At those last words, she looked at Snufkin too, indicating she expected him to do the same.
Utterly befuddled – even more so than before – Snufkin plopped down on the nearest chair, unable to refuse. Joxt stayed standing, arms braced at his sides taut with tension. But for the moment he wasn't running away and Snufkin could count that as a good sign.
"Where to begin, where to begin." Pappa was holding his chin as he muttered deep in thought. Snufkin had not the slightest idea of what was going on, but had trouble patiently waiting for answers – which was so very unlike him. For once, he could hardly contain his curiosity. "Come to think of it, it might be easier if I just pop into my study and-"
Moominmamma interrupted him with a fond sigh. She was clearly used to this, but the situation was too pressing in her eyes to afford distractions of any kind. "I'm sure there's no time for that," she said, glancing at the way Snufkin was clenching his fingers against the tabletop and Moomin was practically bouncing in his own seat.
Casting his eyes to Joxt with a worried expression, Pappa sat back down while mumbling. "Yes, I suppose you're right. We'll have to get to the other bits later."
"What other bits?" Moomin piped up from his chair, but Mamma shook her head.
"This man," Pappa asked, indicating Joxt with one paw. He got an annoyed glare in response. "What did you call him just now?"
Snufkin swallowed. "Joxt. He's unable to speak much, but as I figured it that's his name."
Mamma and Pappa shared a brief look. Snufkin was near tempted to tell them to just spit it out already, the anticipation must be killing him. But for as much as he couldn't bring himself to say it, he could barely bring himself to move. Like something terrible might happen if he did.
"Well, it's close enough. When we knew him he went by Joxter."
"Joxter," Snufkin echoed numbly. He was starting to lose sensation in his fingertips from holding on so tight, unable to stop. "As in-"
Moomin shot up from his seat, earning another angry hiss from a startled Joxt. "The Joxter from your memoirs?" His voice pitched higher in his excitement.
"The very same." Moominpappa looked at Joxt again, the same countenance of worry returning. "Though he looked a bit different back then. I hardly recognized him."
"But doesn't that mean..." Moomin started, before trailing off in his own musing. Snufkin already knew what he was going to say either way. His head was spinning with the thought.
"I need some air," he heard himself say as if distanced through a tunnel. The chair scraped loudly for he pushed it backward strongly, threatening to topple over though Snufkin narrowly avoided as much. He could tell Moomin wanted to get up as well, but Mamma was holding his paw to stop him.
Snufkin ran outside, the thoughts in his head a swirling mess. He barely got as far as the first tree before Joxt caught up with him. His hand grabbed hold of the back of his coat easily, preventing him from running away even further. Joxt turned him around effortlessly, almost lifting him off his feet to do so. Snufkin had to make an effort not to huff like a small child.
Wrong? Joxt asked. His hair was getting longer again, Snufkin might need to cut it again soon. He didn't know why this was the thing he noticed at that moment.
"No, nothing's wrong," he said. "I'm just... surprised."
Surprised why?
It wasn't until then that Snufkin had realized Joxt would have been unable to follow the conversation they just had in the house, or draw the concussions they had. If he even had bothered to be listening at all and wasn't just zoning out again. He bit at his lip to avoid answering.
Where would he even start?
Before he could decide, he felt Joxt's arms brace around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. Or the closest thing that passed for it in Joxt's perception, who despite all the time they spent together and how at ease he had grown with Snufkin over time, still approached most any physical contact with a certain stiffness. Snufkin sighed, and patted the man on the back a few times.
"I believe we better go back inside and get this all sorted out," he said reluctantly. "We don't want the others to worry about us any more than they already do either."
Joxt let go, scrunching up his nose a bit to show what he thought of that. Snufkin knew he didn't like to be inside, but with what he just learned it was the thought that Joxt would prefer not to be around the Moomin family which smarted even more.
"They've healed nicely, all things considered," Moominmamma said when they finally got Joxt out of his clothes so she could inspect the scars his wounds had left. "You treated them well. Though I shiver at the thought of what could have caused this."
Snufkin tried not to pale at his own knowledge. "So do I."
Getting Joxt to show the scars was a difficult task - one that required them to herd Pappa and Moomin into the living room and away so that Joxt would even consider undressing. He was still eying Moominmamma with hesitance, pulling away when her soft paws reached out to scrutinize the old wounds on his back. But he didn't lash out and Snufkin knew that was thanks to Mamma's gentle nature. She exuded the sort of calm, unthreatening energy Joxt would do best with.
Unlike Moomin, whose barely subdued energy and excitement had puzzled Joxt and made him wary of being close to him. Or Pappa, who despite how much he tried to be patient grew visibly frustrated over his old friend's inability to recall him. By now Joxt must have understood what they were trying to tell him – that he had met these trolls in the past, had even considered Pappa a friend – but they didn't get much more than a shrug out of him in response. Not for the first time at all Snufkin wondered what was going on in Joxt's mind.
Pressing against Joxt's shoulder to make him turn to the side so she could see his neck properly caused him to hiss warningly at Mamma, to which Snufkin kicked against Joxt's foot. He raised his hands to sign, for the first time resorting to Joxt's way of talking himself.
Be good, Snufkin said. friends, remember?
Joxt's lips pulled into a faint smirk at the sight of Snufkin using the sign language.
"He can't talk, right?" Mamma asked. She fussed over Joxt's more recent bruises for a moment – the ones he sustained because of their encounter with the humans.
"He's said a few words," Snufkin answered. "But he can't talk as a normal person should."
"Well, not all normal people talk my dear." Moominmamma walked over to the sink to wash her hands. "But I do agree it's not normal for him. As I remember, it used to be much harder to get him to keep quiet." She smiled lightly, but Joxt still did not react. Snufkin was starting to get seriously worried.
"It's not a physical injury at least. I believe his voice should return on its own, in due time."
Snufkin nodded in understanding. "And his memory?"
A frown pulled at the soft features of Mamma's face and her shoulders dropped as if put under a heavy weight. "I'm afraid that's harder to say. There's no instant cure for fleeting memories at least..." She considered it for a moment. "Perhaps they will return on their own too, perhaps they won't. We might be able to help them along, by telling stories or sharing our own recollections."
With a painful pang of guilt, Snufkin realized he had no way to help with that. He did not recall much of his childhood, and certainly nothing from before the orphanage. Even if this man – this person who had until mere months ago been a complete stranger to him – was related to Snufkin, was his father.
Snufkin didn't remember him. Or any of the sparing time they might have spent together.
All he knew was the bitter irony that was them finding each other again under such circumstances. Woefully unaware and unable to make things right.
As if reading the thought from his very face, Moominmamma beckoned him over to the sink. Joxt was putting his clothes back on and not listening to their conversation. "Have you told him?"
"N-no-" Snufkin barely got it out. He was suddenly very grateful the others weren't here. "I'm afraid I don't know how. I'm still coming to terms with it myself, it's hard to tell how he would react."
Or maybe he was merely scared for what reaction he knew that could be.
"Oh, I know you will decide on it eventually." Mamma put the kettle on the stove, before starting to lead them both back into the living room. "But in the meantime, why don't we all have tea and biscuits together and you can share the full story of how this came to be. I'm sure it will help us figure out what to do as well." Spoken with the conviction of a troll who had never encountered an unsolvable situation before.
Snufkin would never admit it, but it was hard not to find some comfort in those words.
"Right, I'm sure Moomin is trembling out of his fur with anticipation too. I better not keep him waiting much longer." Otherwise coming back early would have been in vain anyway. Between all the strangeness, Snufkin was looking forward to the normalcy of recounting stories with Moomin, sharing his spring song, and simply walking through the valley together. "And Joxt-" He turned his head to watch in some amusement how his charge was faring. Moominpappa had cornered him immediately as they came out of the kitchen and was reading to a disinterested Joxt from a stack of disarrayed papers Snufkin could only assume would be part of his memoirs someday.
By all accounts, Joxt looked just as unaffected as earlier, which made dejection fall heavy as a stone into Snufkin's gut. Would this be a completely hopeless endeavor then? Would fate be as cruel as to give him back the parent he had been longing for his entire childhood, only to destroy all significance it might hold?
But then Mamma was carrying a tray of delicious smelling biscuits to put on the middle of the table, and Moomin was bounding over to him as if this was just another spring unlike any others, ready to share in the adventures that would surely unfold.
And at least Snufkin knew that whatever would come next, he wouldn't have to do it alone.
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