Joxter can be a difficult person when he wants to be. Namely, he could be difficult when he wanted to spend time with his kid who did not like spending time with him. No big deal! So maybe he got in Snufkin's space a little too often and he would ramble on while Snufkin ignored him. It's progress!
Right now we were on an overgrown path. The chill of autumn was in the air, nipping at our exposed skin but not quite biting us yet. Fallen leaves cover the ground as we walk on. Well, as Snufkin walked on and I slowly limped behind him.
"Where are we heading?" I finally ask when I feel my hip pop.
Snufkin slows his pace finally and I can catch up to him. It's a little difficult to navigate with all the foliage, the path itself looked like a deer trail. Snufkin didn't seem to care.
"Didja hear me, boyo?"
Snufkin hummed, "Nowhere in particular, I think."
I huff and pause where I was. I lean against one of the trees to give my poor body a rest. I was not, however, anticipating a creak of metal. I push myself back onto my feet and turn towards the offending object.
Fencing! What a horrid thing. Well, at least this one was already falling apart. Less work to do. In fact, the vegetation was already working at it, if the young trees weaving though it were anything to go by.
Snufkin came over and inspected the bars of the fence. He touched one of the more rusted bars and pushed lightly on it. It gave way easily, swinging upwards and leaving a doable gap in the fence.
"Oh," Snufkin says, his tone unrecognizable.
Snufkin slips through easily, holding the bar up so I can hobble in after him. Once in I can see what Snufkin saw. A run down and (probably) abandoned building. The sign above the entrance was falling apart, the letters long since fallen off. The only thing left of them was a faded word, 'Orphanage'.
"Ah," was the only noise I made as I sauntered towards the building.
The door was stuck for a moment, but swung open after I threw myself against it. Which probably wasn't a good idea because now I was on the floor. All I could do was lay on the floor as I listened to Snufkin's footsteps approaching me.
His boots came into my field of vision, turned towards me. I turned my head to look up at him and he had a very unimpressed expression on his face. He then held out a hand to help me up. Pulling me up took no effort from him. Which I shouldn't be surprised about, considering I am much smaller than him and I know the bulk on him isn't entirely fat.
Still, when he pulls my arm after I grab his hand it shocks me to my core a little bit. He doesn't even let out a grunt when he does so. Maybe I should eat more.
I finally got a good look of what I think would have been the common room of the orphanage. The windows are smashed and there's glass scattered around on the floor. What was wall paper is now peeling off and rotting on the walls. The smell of wet wood hangs in the air and there's an unnatural chill in the air.
I pity those poor kids that lived here. It feels like I'm suffocating as the building is falling apart, imagine what it was like when it was running! The molding, water ruined painting of the headmistress certainly isn't doing much to help the atmosphere. It felt like she was staring down at my every move. Maybe that was the point of the painting.
Snufkin was looking at one of the few remaining picture frames on the wall by the entrance. He's turned away from me but I can see his fingers glide over the wooden frame. He's not making any noise.
"What a dump!" I say, "I would hate to be one of the kids who had lived here."
Snufkin doesn't react for a moment, then slightly turns his head towards me. "I used to live here."
Oh… well. That's… oh.
What are you supposed to say in this situation? 'I'm sorry son, I was too busy not knowing you existed to save you from this orphanage.' Yeah that'll go over so well, I'm sure. Just as I was going to open my mouth and apologize, for anything and everything really, Snufkin walks past me and into the next room.
I try to mentally shake myself out of the shock he put me in. I limp quietly after him, hoping he'll answer my many questions. But when I finally reach the room the sight of him keeps me quiet.
He's standing at the edge of one of the beds, the mattress is long gone and the frame looks like it's hanging on just barely. The room is small, so small. And the window is large, letting in the afternoon sun. Snufkin has his hands placed on the wood of the frame. He's looking down at the bed with such vulnerability in his eyes.
He turns his head towards me, that vulnerable look never leaving his face. And for a moment, a small moment, I think we're going to talk finally. That we are finally going to willingly let down our walls and let ourselves have emotions. To say how fucked up it was to not know each other for so many years, to not have each other, to not be allowed to be father and son.
But then Snufkin takes a deep, hitched breath, and his face hardens once more.
"We should make camp," he says, eyes as emotionless as when we first walked into this place.
He walks briskly past me and grabs his pack, leaving me behind in this damned place. For a moment I think I might have imagined the emotion on his face just a moment ago.
...
It's eerily quiet in this area. Not even the bugs dare to make a noise near that damned building. Maybe we should have set camp some place farther, or even just kept walking through the night. My father sleeps like the dead next to me. The tent does little to help the suffocating feeling in my chest and throat.
The orphanage calls to me like a siren. I know it'll bring me nothing but pain… and that makes me crave to go more. I have little memories of the orphanage. What I do remember was that it was never a good place to be. And just like that my curiosity overrides my need to run far from this.
I very carefully get up from where I lay, trying not to disturb Joxter. I grab my boots but leave my hat. I won't be gone for long. I hope.
Cold air hits my skin as I leave the tent. The ground is cold as I sit and slip my boots on quickly. I don't bother lacing them back up properly, I only need them so I don't get glass stuck in my skin. With a final breath I get up and start my walk towards the orphanage, feeling my boot nearly slipping off my feet and the leather hitting my ankles with each step.
The forest in this area is unfamiliar. Which shouldn't be a surprise, the Headmistress didn't let us wander far from her sight. Still, it's unnerving to know that these trees were the same ones I would stare at longingly from my window.
The creak of the fence as I open it up is somehow louder than earlier today. The short walk to the front door looks like it's miles away. I suddenly remember that I used to hide in one of the neatly trimmed bushes a lot. I can't remember exactly why.
The door was still open from when me and Joxter had explored it earlier today. The air leaking through as I stand in the door frame is much, much colder than the air outside. It makes me hesitate. But I walk on, listening to the creak of the wood floor. Every noise I make makes me tense.
I reach the room, my room- our room. The two bed frames sit empty and cramped in the tiny room. The giant window takes over most of the wall before me. I think it was made to make the room seem bigger than it actually was, but it just makes the room feel less private.
I walk over and sit on my old bed frame. The wood threatens to break with a loud groan, but it doesn't. I look around the room, trying to look for a sense of familiarity, trying to find something that feels like home. But nothing was in this room but the lonely bed frames.
I was about to get up and go back to camp, because of course I didn't feel anything; I'm a Snufkin, I don't have any home, then there was a tapping on the window. I know that tapping, don't I? I turn to the window and see a single crow. Just small enough to slip through the bars on the window. Luckily, the windows swing inwards.
The crow was silent as it hopped onto the ledge. In the moonlight I can see their graying feathers and the scratches on their beak. They regarded me quietly.
"... The place closed down years ago, kid." The crow said, looking me straight in the eyes.
"I know," I whispered back, "I used to live here,"
The Crows gaze sharpened, looking me over. Then they softened their eyes. "You're that little Snufkin I taught to speak all those years ago."
I smile, at least there's something good still here. I vaguely remember opening the window late at night, letting the Crow in and listening to them closely, until I could understand their words, and then I would repeat them until they stuck. I remember the feeling of the Crow nipping my cheeks and ears affectionately with their beak.
I settle down on the floor, the Crow settles onto the wood of the frame next to me. I lightly trace the floor with my finger. I can feel the crow staring at me.
"You've grown well," They say, "I'm glad for it, little one."
I smile at them again, happy to have something going for me. Then there's a loud creak, and a groan of wood. It makes me flinch and tense up so tightly it hurts. I held my breath for a moment. When it became evident that it was just the wood settling I let out my breath.
I feel a light tug on my ear. I turn back towards the Crow, seeing their sad look. I shift uncomfortably under it. I don't like being pitied.
"You don't need to be scared of being caught anymore, that woman is far from here."
That made me tense more. I'm not used to being read so easily. But the cold fear of being caught made my eyes water. The Crows words ring in my head. 'You don't need to be scared of being caught anymore.' How long have I waited for someone to tell me those exact words? How many nights did I lay in cold terror of being in trouble?
My body trembles with a sob I can't control. Then I'm suddenly struck with a memory, multiple memories. Of sitting in this very spot and holding a girl's hand. We had shared this room for so many years. She had horrid nightmares that made her wake up crying. And I would wake with her and hold her hand because I didn't know what else to do. If the headmistress heard us we would both be in trouble. We were just children.
emory makes me cry harder. Why did I come back here? For answers I know it doesn't have? To relive the bad life I had here? Why? Why? Why?
"I'm sorry," I pushed out from my sobs, "I thought… I was done with this,"
The Crow regarded me quietly, letting me cry.
"Sometimes we think things are done, but they aren't. I'm sorry little one."
"But why does it hurt so much!" I felt shocked by his own anger, slamming my fists down onto my thighs. I can feel the tears running down my face and onto the fabric of my worn pants.
The Crow gently nipped my cheek, as they did so often when I was younger. "Sometimes old wounds will ache, and they open up again. That's part of life."
I can't think of anything to say, yet I want to yell, to scream, to shake this place from its foundation. But all I can let out are choked sobs. I almost didn't hear the footsteps coming towards the room. My breath hitched when they reached the door. I was prepared to be discovered by the headmistress. But instead, to my horror and relief, it's the lanky figure of my father.
"Kit?" He calls out, like there's anyone else in the room besides me and the Crow.
I just hiccup a sob in response, trying to wipe the tears from my face as they just won't stop coming. There's another hand helping me wipe my tears, and I see blurrily that my father is kneeling down in front of me. As a final impulsive act of the night, I dive into his arms. My face is shoved up against his chest and my arms are probably crushing his ribs.
But he doesn't move away. He just rubs my back and lets me cry. So I do.
I cry and I cry and I cry, I cry for the first time in my fathers arms.