#snufkin with paws and tail

AO3

Chapters: 2

Summary:The problem, Snufkin thinks, is not so much that he believes he is a selfish, wild creature. The problem is that Moomintroll is not, and never will be. And that is a problem, you see, because he deserves someone far better than him.
And yet, Moomintroll still chose him.

… … … . … . . … . … … … … … … . .

There was always a part of Snufkin that worried.

Not a lot, of course, and most certainly not often enough that it wormed its way into the depths of his mind. Unlike most beasts, Snufkin didn’t have many things in his life that he thought were worth worrying about. He was always consciously aware of things on his travels; such as needing food, water, shelter, deciding the best paths to take, those kinds of things. But none could be called worries unless they were dwindling and he had no alternative, which wasn’t frequent.

So, he usually didn’t worry. He’s not even sure if this can be called worrying. He thinks a better word for it would be…nagging. Persistent negativity. Outlandish thoughts he knows to be untrue.

And they don’t really bother him much. Truly, they don’t. He commonly only has them about once a year or so, sometimes not even then. And never more than three times a year. Why, three times had been excessive for him, one could say. But he thinks he was allowed to have those thoughts that year. After all, it was the year the Moomins left for their island without so much as a goodbye note. Any reasonable creature would have nagging thoughts.

They’re annoying all the same. Especially since they aren’t even the same thoughts. They’re the same feeling, at the base core, but it’s like his head can’t seem to pick and choose what to hound him about. Which is just a pain. It’d be a lot easier to get through things if he had one thing to focus on.

The nagging thoughts were never-ending little buggers, and they went like this; Snufkin was a selfish, wild creature that would never belong to any land or anyone, and that was both a blessing to him, and an ache to everyone who cared about him.

That was the basis of them, at least.

And it wasn’t necessarily a lie. In fact, it was quite true. Snufkin was, inherently, a selfish individual, who preferred his own company than that of others, and would not give it up for even the sea itself. No creature could ever seem to give a straight answer on if selflessness was the act of giving up one’s happiness to help others, or if it was simply by giving what they could afford to give. He thinks it’s some middle ground, and that it depends on the person. If that is the case, he still thinks he could be called selfish.

He’s alright with that. He doesn’t mind it. He never understood why people think being selfish is a bad trait from start to finish. In moderation, like many things, it can just be.

Snufkin quite enjoyed being aimless, a vagrant. It was a life he’d had for years and years, a life his kind strived to have, and one he knew he was never going to stop. Some folks liked to travel until they were satisfied before settling down, deciding they’d seen enough of the world and would like to create their own, smaller stories.

Snufkin was not one of those folks. Somewhere, deep in his bones, he knew he’d never tire of this, even when his knees wobbled and his breaths grew wheezy. He was more than happy with that.

And yet, still, the thoughts jeered him like jays with nothing better to do. Because while this life suited him just fine, more than fine, really, it wasn’t so kind to those that called him a friend.

And, once again, he wouldn’t have cared much. Years ago, anyone Snufkin called a friend would’ve been the occasional traveler on the road, or a stranger that gave him food and shelter on harsh nights. Friends, to him, were kind people he’d meet once or twice. Someone who he could pass by again and know he would be welcomed with, at the very least, a smile.

Then he met Moomintroll. And suddenly his definition of friend was inverted and spun around.

It wasn’t a bad thing, he thinks. He quite likes this new definition of friend. He likes the thought of coming back to people who were happy to see him, happy to share stories and adventures. Ones who would make sure he was never bored, but were content to let him have his own time to himself, to sit with him by the river as he fished with nothing but idle conversation. He liked being on his own, but he found he didn’t mind being alone with someone as much as he used to.

Moomintroll is, much to his chagrin, the best, and worst part of this conundrum he’s made for himself. Because the troll is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him–no, was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him. He knows he would’ve been content if he’d never met Moomintroll, would be happy enough to continue to wander the globe and see things beyond his imagination.

But he also never would’ve known someone who’d light up when he arrived like the stars were before them, who wanted to involve him in their life, no matter what he did. Whether it be a crazy adventure, a long-winded story, the weaving of flowers, or sitting in silence as they listened to life pass them by. Never, in all his life, would he have thought someone could care so much about a vagabond like him.

Perhaps it was a poison in its own right. As soon as he befriended Moomintroll, he thinks a part of him knew he would never go back to normal. He could try, but it wouldn’t be the same, knowing there was someone like him out there. Vowing to return to Moominvalley each spring didn’t seem like a burden, or a promise to appease him. In fact, it felt like a promise made with no strings attached. A choice. And one he would make again and again.

But Moomintroll is also the worst thing to happen to him. Because he’s the entire reason Snufkin gets that nasty feeling in his chest when the nagging thoughts rear their ugly heads.

“You’re leaving?” Moomintroll’s ears drooped, his tail, previously curled at his back, flopping pathetically onto the wooden bridge. “But–we still have a few more days, don’t we?”

“There’s a storm brewing.” Snufkin said, tilting his head off towards the east. “It’ll be here by tomorrow. And with how the weathers changing, it’ll probably turn to ice. It’s safer if I leave before it arrives.”

“Ah, yeah, that–good idea.” Moomintroll nodded, tail swishing around his ankle as he looked down, picking at his paws. “I just–I was hoping we could go to the old well Snorkmadien found.” He said, eyes still downcast. “See how far down it goes.”

“It’ll still be there when I come back.” Snufkin assured, and this was why he preferred to leave when backs were turned. Because then his gut twisted up in such painful ways, and he couldn’t stand to be the cause of such disappointment. “Probably not a good idea to go exploring, anyway. I have a feeling it’ll be wet at the bottom, and we don’t want you getting icicles in your fur.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Moomintroll nodded, eyes flicking up, offering a small smile that was forced. “We’ll just have to save the adventures for later.”

“Well, let’s not stop on my account.” Snufkin said, head tilting. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty more stories to tell me when I return, won’t you?”

“I guess.” Moomintroll mumbled, foot scuffing on the ground.

And Snufkin never knew how to say goodbyes. It was one of the many flaws his thoughts would berate him for, that he’d been friends with Moomintroll for so long, and he still didn’t know how to properly say goodbye, so he tried to skip over it entirely. It was a lose-lose situation either way, because either he heard from everyone else how confused and hurt Moomintroll had been next spring when he’d left without a single word, or he had to witness the sadness for himself. It wasn’t fair, and he wondered why anyone would willingly subject themselves to the ordeal of friendships.

“You’ll do fine.” He said instead, tilting the brim of his hat with a nod. “Have a nice hibernation, Moomintroll.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Moomintroll nodded, straightening up as Snufkin turned around at last. “Safe travels, Snufkin.”

And there was a longing there. Some kind of regret, or pleading. He knew Moomintroll wouldn’t ask him to stay, not seriously, and hadn’t asked once after those first two years. But he knew he wanted to. And that, you see, is where the problem lay.

Moomintroll, he knew, didn’t understand him. Didn’t get why he felt the need to always be on the move, or get the suffocating air he felt when around too many people. Didn’t get what he saw in the silence, what called him to take the roads less traveled. To Moomintroll, an adventure was only truly an adventure when you had someone to share it with, or someone to tell it to.

But he respected Snufkin’s choices. He didn’t protest when Snufkin wandered off from the valley from time to time, didn’t berate him for vanishing from events when they became too much for him, didn’t try to interrupt his moments of peace. He didn’t understand why Snufkin was the way he was, but he understood how. He understood enough to know when Snufkin needed to be alone, or needed for there to be quiet. And that, truly, was more than anyone else had ever given him.

He deserves better, they hissed. Better than a selfish beast like you.

Neither of them were tame. Despite their wildly different upbringings and personalities, they were fierce and free, just in different ways. Moomintroll did not, as some would think, belong to the valley, or to his family. Nobody belonged to a place, or a person. They simply loved, and were loved in turn. And that is what tied them down to certain places, made them stay and form their own life around that love.

Snufkin was not immune to this need, the care that drove people to do crazy things. He’d done it, after all. He’d shaped his entire travel pattern around so that he’d pop right back in Moominvalley every spring, without fail. He once walked back on a sprained foot, because if he waited for it to heal, summer would be upon them, and he couldn’t bear to make Moomintroll wait that long. He’d been scolded for it and given more bedrest than was entirely necessary, but it was absolutely worth it.

Is that selflessness, he wonders? To make a promise to return to the same place over and over again, if it’s of benefit to both you and another? Is selflessness doing things you dislike, just to make others happy?

He doesn’t think he returns just to make Moomintroll happy. He returns because he wants to be happy, too. He wants to see all of his friends again. He wants to tear up the signs in the Hemulen’s gardens and be a thorn in Mrs. Fillyjonk’s side. He wants to sit with Moomintroll on the porch and watch the fireflies dance. He wants to be around a campfire with people he knows he could never live without, not after meeting them, and think I missed this.

The first time he had that thought, he hit a particularly sour note on his harmonica. So sour, in fact, that even Sniff noticed it.

“Oooh, that was a nasty one.” Sniff had cringed, and Snufkin hastily shook himself out, hoping the shock of his revelation didn’t show on his face.

“Ah, yes, it was.” He’d hummed. “Apologies, I suppose I wasn’t paying much attention. I’ll start again.”

“Something on your mind?” Moomintroll had asked, distracted from poking at the fire with a stick.

“I think it’d be worrying if there wasn’t.” He said simply, head tilted down, the brim of his hat shadowing his face.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Snorkmadien asked, evidently also distracted from whatever it was she’d been talking about.

“Come now, we’re selling my thoughts a little short now, aren’t we?” Snufkin teased, bringing the harmonica back up to his lips. “Don’t fret, it’s nothing new. Now, then, do we have any requests?”

And despite all the songs he played that night, and the joy that was had, he knew his friends noticed he was a little out of it, a little more distant than normal. Because, well, when had Snufkin ever missed anything? Not once had he ever even longed for something. Craved, maybe, but he thinks the only thing he’s ever missed was the comfort of solitude when he was stuck somewhere particularly non-solitary. He never thought he’d miss, well, the opposite of that.

But, no, that wasn’t right, either. He didn’t miss the crowds or the clamor of being among people. He missed being among friends. Friends and people had very distinct differences, you see. Because in the new definition of friends, they were also those who he liked to be around. Not all the time, of course, but to the point that he could have days where he missed not being around them. It was ludicrous.

He missed being carefree with those similar to him. He missed playing his harmonica for an audience that was just happy to have him there at all. He missed having friends who weren’t stressed about adding him in on their conversations, because they knew he’d speak when he felt like speaking.

He missed having a friend who would sit next to him on a fallen tree, late into the night, when everyone was tired and ready to head up to the Moominhouse, for their own homes were too far away to trek all the way back to.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Moomintroll had asked, a genuine curiosity, and something Snufkin knew he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t feel like it.

“Quite,” Snufkin had said, which was both a lie and the truth. “Just stuck in my own head, I’m afraid. But it’s nothing bad, I assure you.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Moomintroll nodded. “I’d happily fight those bad things for you, you know, but it is dreadfully late.”

“I don’t believe one can fight thoughts.” Snufkin said, pulling his hat further down his eyes to try and hide his smile. “But thank you.”

“I can most certainly try.” Moomintroll puffed, though he left it at that. “But you’re sure you don’t need anything?”

“When have I ever needed anything?” Snufkin asked, not unkindly.

“Well, you need your tent.” Moomintroll said.

“Not really,” Snufkin corrected. “I could always sleep on the ground. It wouldn’t be fun, but I’ve done it before.”

“Er, then, your fishing pole.” Moomintroll amended.

“I know how to pick berries.” Snufkin said simply, flexing the paw not holding his harmonica. “And I’ve caught fish with my bare paws before. Not that I liked doing it.”

“It was very impressive.” Moomintroll insisted. “But then surely you need your harmonica?” He said, glancing down at the instrument.

“Music is not a necessity.” Snufkin shrugged. “A great preference, yes, but I’ve lived without it in the past. Why, I’ve even played a guitar before.”

“Well, everyone needs something.” Moomintroll huffed. “If it’s none of those things, then what do you need?”

“I’m not much for material value, I’m afraid.” Snufkin shrugged. “Though, I’m sure I’m taking this much more literally than you.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” Moomintroll frowned.

“I think it’s good to switch things up every once in a while.” Snufkin said, pocketing his harmonica and standing. “Surprise is a welcome thing, even if it doesn’t always feel like it at the moment.”

“Suppose you’re right.” Moomintroll said, standing up. “You’ve still got that cloudy look in your eyes, though.”

“Oh, do I?” Snufkin hummed, who had still been quite distracted. “Apologies. I’ll try to remember our words when I’m less cloudy.”

“I don’t mind.” Moomintroll had said, and offered a paw. “You’re welcome to join us at the house, if you’d like. Mamma’s good at bringing people into the present. And I think she’s serving waffles come morning.”

Snufkin knew, as did Moomintroll, that he’d have those waffles no matter if he joined them or not. He could slip off to his tent, stare up at the cloth ceiling all night, and crawl out whenever he wanted in the morning and still find some waffles waiting for him. If he went to the house, someone was sure to be up before him. And he’d probably be woken up by them, and then everyone else would wake, and they’d all be just a little tired for the day.

“I think a distraction would do me good.” He said anyway, taking the troll’s paw, long-since used to how soft it felt.

He did not say yes for anyone’s benefit but himself, because he was a selfish beast who strived for his own happiness, whatever kind he’d find in that house. But he still felt lighter than the wind when Moomintroll gave his paw a reassuring squeeze and tugged him along, as though there had not been nights beforehand where he’d slept over. He treated it all as though it were new, and Snufkin found it quite sweet.

The persistent negativity was not, exactly, mad because he sought his own selfish forms of joy. But rather, mad because his selfish fulfillments were at pleasure of himself, while they caused harm to those around him.

For Moomintroll was not selfish like him. He had selfish tendencies, as any beast does, but at the end of the day, he was someone who did what he thought was best for everyone. He was not purely selfless, but he tried to be a whole lot more than Snufkin did, for any selflessness he did was either by sheer accident or because he was dragged along into it. Moomintroll was a cheerful creature that was as stubborn as he was fuzzy in all forms of kindness and being what he deemed was the ‘best’ in that particular year.

And for some reason, he had chosen Snufkin.

For some reason, he called Snufkin not only his friend, but his best. Snufkin had not had a best friend before, and he didn’t think he’d have another. He did not mind that thought, for why would he ever want another?

He did not think he was selfish in remaining Moomintroll’s best friend, because it had been Moomintroll’s idea from the start. Was it selfish to not give a proper warning? That Snufkin was not an easy creature, that he was aloof and careless with not only his feet, but himself and to others? He wants to think that Moomintroll surely would have known, or at least assumed, but either he didn’t, or he had thought it would be different, because he was still saddened when Snufkin did the same things he always did year after year.

He does not deserve Moomintroll, the thoughts say, because Moomintroll simply deserves someone who can be selfless. Not someone who will do whatever he says, but someone who will want to stay with him through everything, who will have sense to know when to cut their losses, but never to abandon, and never to turn him into a sad lump of a critter come every winter.

He’d call it punishment if he had even the faintest idea what he was being punished for.

,

“But you don’t regret leaving.” Little My pointed out, because while he had not said all of these words to her, he’d told her something similar, because she was bound to find out anyway. Little My could never leave secrets to themselves.

“Of course not.” He said, watching the waters, though he doubted there’d be many fish today. “I’d be miserable if I stayed. But I do regret making others sad.”

“Quite the circle you’re in.” Little My tsked. “Looks like no one’s going to be happy.”

“But I am happy.” He said with a frown. “Most of the time, at least.”

“Then why worry?” Little My huffed. “You’re worried about such a small detail, it’s ridiculous. Why fret over a small moment of sadness when it’s overshadowed by all the other disgustingly fun things you do?”

“Because it’s always the same.” Snufkin said, drawing one leg closer. “It’s not just a random moment of unhappiness. It’s a recurring theme. And I wonder if they ever tire of it.”

He hadn’t meant to say that last part, but if he showed his regret, Little My would set upon him with twice the ferocity. She was odd like that. Loudly bemoaning her trifles with life, and growing annoyed when anyone was upset with something that wasn’t caused by her. He wonders if someone would call that pride, to be offended when nobody is paying attention to your brand of mischief. Or maybe that was her own Little My way of being kind.

“Tire of it?” Little My huffed. “If they were ever to tire of it, they would’ve done so many winters ago.”

“They’re patient creatures.” Snufkin said, though he wasn’t sure why he was arguing. He didn’t want it to be true any more than her. “But everyone’s patience runs out eventually.”

“You mean everyone except Moominmamma.” Little My said, abandoning her rock by the river to sit next to him, something she never really did unless he ought to be paying attention.

“Yes, except for her.” Snufkin agreed. “But I was never worried about her.”

“Then why worry about the others?” Little My sniffed. “Believe me, for all their complaining, those weirdos still like having you around, when you want to be around. I don’t think Moomintroll could tire of your oddness if you were the last beast on this planet. He’d still wait in lonely winters until you came back.”

“But I don’t want to leave him lonely.” Snufkin said, feeling just a little helpless, a sensation he often tried to quell with mischief, but Little My might not let him. She had her annoyed, serious face on. Which was only a little different from her normal face.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you don’t.” Little My said simply. “He whines and moans every time you go, but it’s not like you’re the only person in the world he cares about. A funny concept, I know, considering it sure feels like it sometimes.”

Snufkin tilted his hat down, over his eyes and nearly completely over his face, ducking his head so that he wouldn’t be sitting there weirdly with a hat on his face instead of his head. It’s a foreign concept to him, to be cared about. He knows this is not the first time someone has told him that others care about him, but it’s still quite a new concept.

He knows he has been cared for before. The Mymble, he knows, loves him, as she loves all her children. It’s impossible to have favorites with so many kids coming and going, so the concept of such was never one that crossed his mind. He’s spent less time with her than most of her kids, as she knew that, as a Mumrik, he’d prefer solitude, so she gave him that from a young age. Her methods might have been a little unorthodox, boxes on a river were not always what one would call smart ideas, but it turned out alright, and he knows it was only out of slightly misguided love.

But he knows he was, and still is, loved by her. Love is not finite, and the Mymble is no exception. She shows her love in groups. She tells her children she loves them when they are all together, and rarely is one singled out. So he has heard he is loved by her, just when he was around his other siblings. That was simply how she was. That, he believes, is a different kind of caring than this.

Little My, he thinks, would prefer to be told individually. She never much cared for being one in a crowd.

“Do you miss me?” He ends up asking, hat still over his eyes, only able to see the ends of his feet. “When I leave, I mean.”

“Why would I ever miss you?” Little My huffed, and he could feel her giving him a judgmental look. “You always come back, don’t you?”

“So you never think of me when I am gone?” He asks, an amused curl to his mouth.

“I’m kind of forced to.” Little My huffs. “I live with an idiot who never shuts up about you.”

“Terribly sorry to hear that.” Snufkin chuckled. “But I’m glad to hear you don’t miss me. It’d be a fine mistake to upset you.”

“It still wouldn’t stop you from leaving if I did.” She pointed out.

“It wouldn’t.” He agreed.

“And if it somehow did,” She continued, and he felt a weight on his leg and hip, and suddenly his hat was being pushed up and back over his head, Little My standing on him with one of her nastier glares. “I’d throw you out the front door myself. Lock you out in the middle of a blizzard for all I care. I’ve dealt with miserable moomins more than enough, I’m not dealing with a miserable Snufkin.”

Little My, he thinks, is not so bad of a sister to have. He doesn’t particularly have much to compare her to, he never spoke all that much with his other siblings, most finding him too aloof to play with, something he was perfectly fine with. He thinks she might have been around when he was much, much smaller, but she’d left the Mymble far sooner than him. As far as he is concerned, he only met her in this very valley.

And though he would never say it to her face, for who knows what she’d do if he dared try, he thinks there is a small point of overlap in their own forms of selfishness. Their so-called acts of kindness are a disguise, just in reverse. Snufkin, if given the opportunity, will pretend his selfish acts are that of kindness, for while they are, they are also at his benefit, so he knows he is not truly selfless (but he never tells anyone that, despite them all knowing). Little My pretends all her kind acts are through being rude and selfish, which they are, but she, and everyone else, refuse to think it might also be a bit selfless to try at all.

“I would trust no one else to keep my head on straight.” Snufkin said with a smile.

“Your head’s never been on straight.” Little My huffed, pushing his hat the rest of the way off his head, letting it fall to the grass.

“No,” He said, watching her hop off him and go back to her rock, evidently ending whatever conversation she wished to have. “I suppose it hasn’t been.”

,

“Did you meet anyone on your travels this time?”

It’s a question Moomintroll often asks, enough times that Snufkin can pinpoint the week it’ll happen. Always in early spring, never after the apples start to bloom. It’s among many questions he always asks, and Snufkin knows when he will ask those, too.

“A few.” He said, picking up a shell from the beach and turning it over. It was very broken, and not all that pretty. He pocketed it. “Some Niblings, a Hemulen or two, and even a lonesome Toffle.”

“Did you speak with them?” Moomintroll asked, watching him rather than the waves, or even the sand. He didn’t quite get it, so he watched everything else for the both of them.

“Only a little.” He said. “The Niblings were just passing by, and I didn’t get along much with the Hemulens, as I’m sure you figured. Spent some time with the Toffleass, though.”

“Were they traveling like you?” Moomintroll wondered.

“No, they lived in an old hole in the ground under the roots of a dead tree.” Snufkin said, trying to recall. “They lived all by themself, though, and weren’t very talkative. I suppose that’s probably why I took them up on their offer to stay for a few nights. It was dreadfully cold, and the company wasn’t unbearable.”

“Oh,” Moomintroll said, finally looking out to the sands, so Snufkin thought it’d be alright to be looking at him now. “Well, I hope they were nice.”

“They were lovely,” Snufkin assured, stopping when Moomintroll bent down to pick up a round shell. “If awfully lacking in the confidence department. That’s a hermit crab.”

Moomintroll blinked, looking from Snufkin to the shell in his paw. Snufkin reached out and turned it over, setting it down on his palm rather than between his fingers. Sure enough, two beady little eyes poked out of the shell.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Moomintroll told the hermit crab, leaning back down. “I thought you were empty. You have a wonderful shell.”

The hermit crab, thankfully, did not seem offended by being disturbed. It waddled on its little legs for a moment when Moomintroll set it back down on the sand, readjusting to its sudden change. It looked back up at them for a moment before waving a claw and scuttling off further inland. It wouldn’t want to be caught in the tide.

“It seems to be a little too big for its shell.” Snufkin hummed. “I doubt there are many good shells to find on this beach, everyone had probably picked off the best ones.”

“Should we return them?” Moomintroll asked.

“We’d have to ask nearly everyone in the valley if they’d been to the beach.” Snufkin shook his head. “Hermit crabs will take any home they can fit in. Does Snorkmadien still have her arts and craft kits?”

“You suggest we make the hermit crabs new homes?” Moomintroll’s ears pricked.

“It’d be something to do.” Snufkin shrugged, resuming walking. “And a good deed. That way, we won’t have to go searching for every good shell we’ve picked, and the hermit crabs won’t be cramped in their homes.”

For Snufkin was kind in only the most selfish of ways. Which is both a blessing, and a curse. For his selfishness is at least doing something for others, but that also means he really has nothing to complain about, and thus nothing to feel sorry for. He still feels sorry, anyway.

“Wonderful idea!” Moomintroll praised anyway, lighter in his steps. “We could probably get Little My’s advice, she’s good at fitting into small spaces. We wouldn’t want to make their homes too big.”

“I don’t quite think it can be.” Snufkin said. “I hear that hermit crabs can grow all throughout their lives. It’s why many creatures try to eat them when they’re small, otherwise they’ll have something bigger to worry about in a few years.”

“Do you think there’s a monstrous crab somewhere in the ocean?” Moomintroll wondered, looking off towards the sea.

“Probably,” Snufkin said. “Perhaps one of us will meet it someday.”

Moomintroll looked a little less thrilled all of the sudden, and Snufkin looked out to the sea, wondering if perhaps he’d seen something different. But neither of their eyes were better than the other when in the daytime, so he knew that wasn’t the case when he didn’t see a thing.

“You’ll probably find it before me.” Moomintroll said, longingly watching the water.

“I don’t do many sea expeditions, I stay on the shore.” Snufkin reminded. “Besides, you live right next to it.”

“But you go everywhere,” Moomintroll sighed, slowly beginning to trudge along the sand. “And you see all kinds of things. Who’s to say you won’t find a giant crab by another part of the sea?”

“I doubt it.” Snufkin said, following. “I tend to only pass by the sea. Perhaps we could make an adventure out of it, searching your parts of the ocean for the long-lived hermit crab.”

“But that’s not–” Moomintroll made a grumbling little sound, the kind he made when he wasn’t being listened to. Snufkin, sometimes, would purposefully misinterpret what he was saying just to see him get annoyed for that split second, only to realize it was all a ploy and bat at Snufkin like a funny little pest. It was great fun.

This time, Snufkin hadn’t meant to. So he stayed quiet, and let the troll’s thoughts gather.

“Don’t you ever see places more interesting than this?” Moomintroll eventually asked, kicking a foot in the sand and sending it ahead of them.

“Well, I wouldn’t know.” Snufkin said evenly. “I don’t particularly judge places based on how ‘interesting’ they might seem. It’s all subjective, and what a town may have one day could be gone the next. What would you call more ‘interesting’ than Moominvalley?”

“I don’t know–buildings in trees.” Moomintroll waved a paw. “A hidden town by a cliffside. Tunnels that never end. Mountains that stretch beyond the clouds, those kinds of things.”

“Well, I have seen those things.” Snufkin agreed. “But I still wouldn’t call them more interesting than Moominvalley. They’re all just, well, interesting.”

“But what about the people?” Moomintroll persisted. “You meet all kinds of folks on your travels. Surely there are some far better than us?”

“I don’t tend to judge people on being ‘better’ than others.” Snufkin frowned. “There are people I agree with, and people I don’t. There are people I relate with, and people I don’t. Disagreement or a lack of understanding does not make one better than the other. It only makes them different.”

“You’re not getting it.” Moomintroll sighed.

“I’m being honest.” Snufkin shrugged, plucking up what likely used to be a shark egg, turning it over in his hand. “I think that you are worrying about things that have never happened. You’re allowed to be worried, of course, but I’m telling you that you do not have to.”

“You’re not just saying it?” Moomintroll asked, looking at him with uncertainty.

“Now, when have I ever been the kind of person to say untruthful things just to make others feel better?” Snufkin asked, pulling some seaweed off the egg and showing it. “Would you like a shark egg?”

“Why would I want that?” Moomintroll tilted his head, though he was definitely curious.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Snufkin replied, and Moomintroll couldn’t argue with that, so he took it.

“I think I’m worried that you’ll find a better friend than me.” Moomintroll admitted, turning the egg over in his paws. “Someone who’s easier to deal with.”

“Deal with?” Snufkin reeled back, appalled. “Since when have I ever ‘dealt with’ you? I come here because I want to be here. I speak with you because I want to. I am never ‘dealing with’ you, it’s of nothing but my own benefit to be here.”

And Moomintroll stared at him for a moment, possibly shocked, possibly mulling the words over, possibly both. Snufkin just picked another stray leaf of seaweed off the egg in his paws before going back to walking. He does not easily like to admit to his selfishness, but it was the truth.

It took a moment or two, but Moomintroll started following him again, going into step at his side. Unlike Snufkin, he never really needed long stretches of time to think about his words. He said what he thought first, or what he thought sounded the best right then and there.

“Sorry,” He said, which was not what Snufkin was expecting. “You’re right, I was being silly.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Snufkin huffed. “You were worrying. It’s not silly to worry, it’s silly to let it consume you. I much rather prefer you tell me you were worrying than deciding to take measures into your own paws.”

For not the first time, he wished he could take his own advice.

“Yeah, I’m trying to be better about that.” Moomintroll agreed. “Talking about things before trying to fix them so they don’t become a problem.”

“You’re doing very well.” Snufkin praised. “But I still wouldn’t worry.” He assured, placing a paw on his shoulder. “While I agree that no person is better than another, I do believe in how close creatures can be with each other.” He said with a teasing grin. “And you’re at the top. I don’t think there’s a thing in the world that could change that.” He said, giving his shoulder a pat before continuing on.

Not even a few seconds later, there was a weight colliding with his back, and arms around his sides. He stumbled a bit with the force of it, blinking with surprise. He looked down to see fuzzy white arms around him, and his ribs were feeling a little too encasing from how tightly they were being squeezed against him. One of the fists were closed, still holding the gift within.

“You’re at the top of mine, too.” Moomintroll said, snout pushed in-between his shoulder blades. “And that’s not going to change for me, either. Okay?”

And Snufkin smiled, leaning his head back until it lay over Moomintroll’s forehead, staring up at the sky as he squeezed his arms. It’s remarkable, really, how nice it can feel to hear something you already know to be true.

“I know.” He said fondly. “I never doubted it.”

“I just wanted you to know.”

“I appreciate it.”

Moomintroll’s arms slowly unwound from him, and Snufkin wouldn’t say he missed it, he had to keep walking eventually, after all, but he found he wouldn’t mind if it were to happen again.

“Sorry for being all mopey on you.” Moomintroll said, bringing the egg back up to fiddle with.

“Don’t apologize.” Snufkin said. “Like I said, better to say things than to fix them by yourself. In emotional cases, at least.” He said with a fanged grin, one he normally tried to be sparse with.

“I think most others can be solved with it, too. But whatever you say.” Moomintroll shrugged. “Do you want to go back to the house? We can start on those new homes for the hermit crabs.”

A part of Snufkin still wanted to stay on the sand. To watch the sunset descend into the water and to stare out at it even long after that, to see the stars reflected over the ocean. To set the old eggshell adrift and see if anything came back for it. To stand in the shallows and wait for whatever creatures lived around to grow curious and careless.

But then he’d be late for Moominmamma’s dinner. And while he knew she’d save a dish for him, they were still much better warm than cold.

Besides, he doesn’t think Moomintroll would linger all night like him. He was, tragically, a daytime critter.

“Sounds good to me.” He said, lightly bumping Moomintroll’s shoulder as he passed. “I’m sure Little My has more than enough things to use in our efforts.”

“I doubt she’ll let us have them.” Moomintroll said, tailing after.

“Well, better to ask for forgiveness than permission, no?” Snufkin’s eyes glinted mischievously as he peeked over his shoulder.

“You never ask for forgiveness.” Moomintroll huffed, though he was smiling, too.

“Sometimes,” Snufkin hummed. “But no, not often. I find that forgiveness is a little overrated.”

He thinks that, perhaps, Moomintroll believed he didn’t deserve Snufkin, either. But how he’d ever come to that conclusion, he’d probably never comprehend.