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“Huh.”
Snufkin looked down at the wooden sculpture Moomin made, the two of them stood together with their arms around each other’s waist. There were details he hadn’t noticed before: the miniature Snufkin figure was smiling, and the miniature Moomin had a cut in the middle of its chest where the heart would be, as if it were scarred or broken.
“You might feel great when you’ve chosen to be alone, but it’s not the same when you haven’t.”
Then he recalled the sad smile Moomin gave as he turned back to wave to Snufkin, about to return to Moominvalley.
Kind Moomin. Always understanding of Snufkin’s need to drift away like a snowflake in the wind, but never truly understanding why they had to be apart, which was what brought Moomin to The Lonely Mountain in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to come here, but… It was a five day hike back to Moominvalley. Moomin mentioned the dreadful snout icicles. He’d come this far to make Snufkin aware of his need for companionship.
Why he couldn’t sleep through the winter, Snufkin didn’t understand. Time would pass as it always did and in deep slumber Moomin wouldn’t notice his absence. It would make things easier for both of them if he followed that routine.
Moomin appeared to be on a desperate quest for difficult tasks and novel experiences lately. Being quiet and inactive would be a good lesson for him to learn. They could be alone together. Snufkin could have his peace, and Moomin could have his company. His heart thrummed at the idea of this compromise.
“Moomintroll, wait!” he called out and ran out of the cave. Moomin and his parents turned around on the path, the latter with an expression of surprise, the first with apparent glee and expectation.
“Yes, Snufkin?” Moomin asked.
“In a few nights, there’s going to be a special surprise in the sky,” he said softly as he walked towards them, not quite looking Moomin in the eyes. “I would hate for you to miss it. The sky remembers all the joy and fun it’s seen happening below and reenacts it for all the world to admire. Though it’s clearest when watched from up here.”
“You want me to stay?” Moomin’s breath fogged the air. “Won’t you find me and my talking annoying?”
A smile tickled Snufkin’s lips and he raised an eyebrow. “Given the past couple of days, it’s safe to assume you might be a bit irritating, but I can handle your presence for a little while longer if it means showing you something magical that you’ll likely remember for the rest of your life. We can work something out, can’t we, my dear friend?”
Moomin beamed brightly. “Why, yes, of course! I’ll be on my best behaviour this time, I promise!”
“Great,” Snufkin said warmly.
“Oh,” Moominmama said with a frown. “Are you sure, Snufkin?”
“I am.”
“I do hope we’re able to catch this night time surprise on our way home, That would help take my mind off my worries. Yes, that’d be lovely, don’t you think, dear? ”
“Quite right, my darling.” Moominpapa peered at the sky through his emergency horn. “Why does all the fun and novel worthy stuff have to happen when it’s time for me to be all huddled up, warm in bed, for several months on end?!”
“Mm, a pity.”
“I should say! Though all this hiking, climbing, and lifting the weight of three people with a rope has not been good for my blasted back, I could do with a rest,” he groaned and stretched. “To think I wanted to climb the North Mountain!”
“It was a tad ambitious, a little more preparation would be needed to tackle that, I think. Anyway,” Moominmama clutched Snufkin’s hands. “I hope you boys have a wonderful time. Take care of each other. Try not to cause any more avalanches, the mountains like their quiet time just as much as you do, Snufkin.” There was a stern look in her eye that said Make sure he’s safe, or else.
Nodding, Snufkin squeezed Mama’s hands and promised they wouldn’t. Tumbling beneath a fast approaching pile of snow had been warning enough for him to be more cautious of the weather and natural environment. In a strange way it’d been rather exciting to see his life flash before his eyes. A large chunk of his memories were with this family, with Moomin.
Moomintroll hugged and kissed his parents goodbye and walked with Snufkin back to the cave. He unpacked again. This time he kept his belongings to one side, careful not to overtake Snufkin’s personal space.
“Sooo… if you’re going to paint, think, and play music, what am I going to do? How can I avoid causing another argument?” Moomintroll guiltily kicked the broken accordion behind him. It had been so petty of him to loudly play it in his other cave! It had likely contributed to the avalanche that nearly swept his dear Snufkin away.
“When I’m painting I fall into a sort of… senselessness.” Snufkin gazed at the mass of trees he’d painted by the entrance. “I’m much less aware of my surroundings, perhaps you could play your music during that?”
“I’ll paint while you’re playing your harmonica!”
“And we’ll think” -Snufkin tapped his head twice- “at the same time.”
“Oh, that sounds absolutely perfect. Hm. What if we discover telepathy from thinking in sync?”
“You stay out of my mind, creature.” Moomin was already in there often enough as it was…
Moomin set up his little chair and sat by the fire. Snufkin sat cross-legged on the ground next to him. Feeling a bit silly, he decided to forgo the chair, discarded it to his new pile, and sat on the floor also. He watched the flames; the warmth enveloped his face like a heated spa mask. Smoke stung his eyes a bit, making them water, though it smelled comforting.
He sighed, mentally preparing for the long days ahead with no conversation to be had.
Snufkin tilted his head curiously. “Something the matter?” Snufkin’s hand hovered above Moomin’s arm.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk anymore, you’re breaking your own rules.” Moomin grinned.
Snufkin scoffed, then his expression fell and he crossed his arms. “I don’t make rules, I break them. However, some proper rules on talking could be in place, just this once,” he conceded.
“We could talk at meal times.” Moomin pictured them laughing over warm bowls, having the time of their lives.
Shaking his head, Snufkin stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We’d be too busy eating and end up trying to talk with our mouths full. That’d get frustrating very quickly.”
“How about after meals? For dessert I can have Snufkin Time!”
Snufkin lowered the tip of his hat as he flushed and chuckled. “No, if we did that you’d waylay me, keep me in a conversation until the next meal time, and then the next one, and so on.”
Moomin’s snout turned pink and he fiddled with the tassels of his scarf. “Suppose you’re not wrong there.”
“I keep track of the time by watching the moon, you know. It’s always in the sky during winter.” And it was, a crescent moon the size of a claw climbed behind the mountain peaks on the other side of the range. “After dinner, it walks across the sky from there to there,” -Snufkin pointed to the right hand side of the cave entrance then to the left- “and that’s when it’s time for me to sleep, so we can use that to measure our talking time.”
“How precise!” Moomin laughed. “That’s what we’ll do then, I look forward to having our moonlit conversation tonight. Ah, I already have so much I want to say!”
“You always do.” Snufkin watched the fire with wide eyes, and the ribbons of flame crackled - a sound like ants playing tiny percussion instruments - with excitement. “Let the song of nature begin.”
It did not take long for Moomin to become bored, but he kept his word and, well, literally kept all his words to himself. The only noises in the cave now were the gusts of wind, their breathing, the campfire burning, and the occasional page turn of Snufkin’s book. His own book was not doing enough to keep him interested, because it was a book, and was a rather one-sided conversation.
Sometimes he sighed, and when it had discordant notes, Snufkin would look up from his novel to check on him with round, distant brown eyes, be reassured by Moomin’s warm smile, then lower his gaze once again, recaptured by the story. For someone who claimed to be senseless when in the zone, he sure seemed to be alert to Moomin’s every breath!
Despite the dullness, Moomin was happy. It was really something ebullient that filled him with a light, pleasant quiver and that confirmed his decision to suffer through the unforgiving wilderness, miles of exertion, and acerbic hostility to and from his friend had been in fact a fine choice indeed; all worth it in the end.
Moomin gave up on the thick novel he’d attempted to plough through. All he wanted was to talk to Snufkin! And like the times he’d woken up by accident during hibernation, lonely while his family were spirited away by their dreams; he unsheathed his fountain pen, lay on his stomach in front of a stack of paper, and wrote a letter addressed to Snufkin.
Dear Snufkin,
I am so happy you let me stay with you on the mountain a little bit longer! Right now you’re reading your book, I hope I’m not disturbing you with my scribbles. You look absolutely entranced, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so focused before. I am pretending that a witch has cursed me to not use my voice until nightfall. You know me, I love a good challenge! It’s a bit more lowkey than other adventures but I can view it as one nonetheless.
Anyway, I wanted to apologise for causing so much fuss before. I know you need your alone time, but it’s painful even just imagining you leaving…
Being on the island took a chunk out of our precious time together this year. Papa said this was our new home, forever, but considered returning home when he got fed up. I suggested he take a little more time to understand the island and the surrounding sea. That might’ve been a bad idea because I don’t believe my parents were mentally well, the longer we stayed there, the worse they got. When we got back, Moominvalley was a bit of a mess.
On the island, Papa had been shouting and throwing things around and we were afraid to mention the lighthouse lamp around him since he struggled to fix it. That was the first time I saw him like this. He scared me. Mama painted an extravagant mural of flowers - I’m reminded of it now, looking at your paintings on the cave wall, they’re splendid! - she would stare at it for ages when she thought no-one was looking, like she was hypnotised by them. Perhaps too many meals of fish clouded their minds, that much salt in a person’s diet can’t be good for the body. I read in a book that it can cause high blood pressure. Oh, how I craved vegetables and fruit for weeks on end, can you imagine?!
Little My told me she walked into a tense conversation between them. They seem all right now, though I worried about them and suggested they go to therapy, just to relieve some stress. Mr Brisk had a good therapist recommendation.
You might’ve liked it there, on that island. It was rather gloomy until we fixed it up, though it had a great view of storms - I know how you love to watch thunder and lightning, I’ve had to pull you into shelter countless times to avoid you getting struck, you worry me so! That place had a sense of timelessness, as though you could walk out of the lighthouse one day and find that centuries had gone by, like those stories about dancing with the fae. Luckily that didn’t happen to us.
For me, it was dull. No jungles to explore, no new people to meet… Not that that would bother you. You know, I’ve never understood your need to be alone. Don’t you get sad after a while? With no-one to share your thoughts and feelings with, no-one to eat meals with, or share a blanket with? I suppose when you have meals with us you’re content to be quiet, and rush out to go fishing or hide somewhere straight after finishing. My family gives you plenty of space to breathe even in a crowded household, though sometimes I’m surprised with how much of our nonsense you endure.
You are more comfortable with unpleasant feelings than I am, aren’t you… You once told me “the only thing to fear is fear itself” but that doesn’t work for other emotions, does it? The only thing to be sad about is sadness? Be angry about anger?
Now that I’ve mentioned them, I’m having some of those unpleasant feelings. Remembering my hurt and surprise when you got upset, telling me I never should’ve come here. My spite when I stormed off to that damp cave. My shock and dread when you fell down the mountain. Suddenly I’m remembering all the terrible parts of this year. I have opened a can of worms in my brain. Argh why can’t I simply shoo them away or stuff them inside a jar! I should meditate more.
Snufkin, I’m going to be honest with you. I always am, but this time I will lay it out clearly. In my opinion, you are really cool, fascinating, and so smart. I’m envious of your nature, how rarely things affect you and problems seem to bounce off your hat. It’s embarrassing how easily bothered I am, how high-strung and desperate I can be.
This will sound so silly to you; on the first days of spring this year, I waited for you on the bridge in the middle of the night. I became drowsy, fell off, and landed in the river! And then I returned to the bridge, sat right back down, and continued to wait for you! When you arrived a few days later I ran up to meet you, hoping to run into your arms and give you the biggest hug. Then you, acting in your usual way, stopped to rest on the bridge and turned away from me, greeting me much more casually. I realised how sappy and unrealistic my expectations of our reunion had been, so I tried to act cool too.
I don’t hate myself for having this type of personality, but I wish I knew what made you tick so I could tock at the right time, in the right way.
Moomin stopped writing. There was no way he could show Snufkin this letter, it was turning into a deeply personal diary entry! Still, it was a comfort to pretend he was saying this to his friend, and it got all those thoughts out of his head and onto the paper. Those feelings lingered, that was to be expected when they were dwelled on, yet they felt lighter. Less urgent. They were the paper’s problem now, not his.
A song interrupted his thoughts; Snufkin had started playing his harmonica, cupping it to give it a “wah wah” sound on certain notes. Like with his book, Snufkin was lost in the melody, eyes closed as he poured his soul into it. He paused, glancing meaningfully at Moomin as if to remind him he couldn’t play while being watched. Moomin snorted a laugh, secretly thrilled to have been given a bit of attention, and turned his attention to the wall which he would paint.
What to paint… Home? Surprisingly, Moomin didn’t feel homesick. Of course he missed his parents and friends but the thought of them didn’t pull hard enough on his heartstrings to make him leave the mountain. He’d see them again soon.
The hypocrisy of that was not lost on him. He valued them all the same, yet Snufkin, aided only by Moomin’s crush on him, pulled those heartstrings like they were a string on a balloon, and his actions became more impulsive in his attempts to be near him.
He closed his eyes and listened to Snufkin’s song, curious as to what the underlying message of it was. It was slow, imbued with his character, and kept pace with his calm heartbeat. Images of a long path in the forest came to mind, one beside a lone river that flowed along gently, eager but not too hurried to join the sea. A feeling of enjoying the journey, tranquillity, and stopping to smell the roses.
PIcking up the bowls with paint in them, he sat across the room from Snufkin and got to work. Moomin was not typically a painter - moving scenes felt more engaging than static images - though he could try it out. In this moment he felt more like an engineer than an artist, laying down the parts of his planned invention, unsure what would appear when he flicked his brush against the grey wall.
The experience was calming, but not without its challenges, like the paint lifting off and leaving patches, lines becoming too thick or too narrow, struggling to mix the right colour due to the limited palette. Before he could get worked up, he sat back to listen to Snufkin playing, and realigned with the reason that he wanted to paint this scene in the first place: to make an intangible idea real and observable.
Taking a break from playing, Snufkin watched Moomintroll paint. The sight moved him so; it could be a painting in itself. The urge to hug Moomin from behind and put his head on his shoulder to watch him work came across his mind, which he shook off. Earlier it had been hard to tell what Moomin was painting since it had simply been blobs of colour, but now he refined it and added details.
Trees with young, spring leaves, tiny birds sitting on their branches, a grassy river bank, and water with ripples and bubbles. Snufkin could practically see the gears turning in Moomin’s furry white head as he pressed on. Splashes of colour stuck to Moomin’s hands and arms which he didn’t seem to notice or care about, just entirely involved with the picture he was creating, oblivious to the world; an experience Snufkin had become familiar with during his own painting.
Moomin lifted one of the bowls, staring at his landscape, and slowly raised it to his mouth-
“Don’t drink that!” Snufkin cried and stood up abruptly. “It’s paint water!”
“Oh, goodness!” Moomin gasped, startled out of his reverie, and put the bowl down. He turned to face Snufkin. “Thank you for saving me from that terrible mistake, the last thing I’d want is to become ill because I did something as stupid as drinking water with paint in it!”
Snufkin smiled, remembering the last time Moomin was ill on one of their duo adventures. He’d nursed the feverish troll back to health, and played him soft songs to help him sleep. “You’re welcome.”
“How long have I been painting?”
“Long enough for the moon to come across our door.” He pointed to it.
“The curse has been lifted, we can talk again!” Moomin cheered.
Snufkin frowned in confusion, but Moomin was already on a roll, urging Snufkin to come closer and look at what he’d been up to. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever painted,” he declared proudly.
“It’s lovely.” He was impressed by Moomin’s artistic growth since the start of the year, when he’d shown Snufkin a drawing of the beach near his house. “I could imagine myself walking on that path or fishing in the river.”
“I’m glad you think so. So many people will do any old landscape to the point where it becomes cliche, but this, this was created with- with meaning behind it.” Moomin soared into a detailed explanation, eyes bright with enthusiasm, paws waving around emphatically to accentuate his points.
When he’d worn himself out he looked at Snufkin. “And how was your day?”
“It was alright. Peaceful.”
Moomin waited for Snufkin to go on, but he didn’t, instead adding another log to the fire which grew brighter.
He glanced at the sheet of paper he’d written on then put it in his backpack for safe-keeping. The conversations he’d wanted to have with him earlier reappeared in his mind; they’d never run out of things to talk about.
Moomin’s eyes wandered around the cave. “Will you be staying here all winter, then?”
“No I won’t, I’ll leave before the end of December and find someplace new to travel in the south.”
“How exciting! What will you do?”
“Well, that’s the most exciting part of it; I don’t know. I’ll find a new book to read, that much I do know.”
Moomin searched for some drinking water, pausing the conversation while he rummaged around. He sat back down upon finding it. “What about going in another direction instead of just South, like East? Or South-East?”
“Hm. It’s busier there, lots of coastal towns.”
“You can still be alone in a crowd of people, they wouldn’t know who you are, they’d be much less likely to approach you.”
“That’s not the type of aloneness I like though. My ideal location is someplace so far from civilization that I could shout at the top of my voice and nobody would hear me.”
“Doesn’t sound very safe…” Moomin mumbled into his cup.
“It’s not like I have anything that crooks would want to steal.”
“What if they wanted to steal you?”
“I’ve travelled all over the place and had years of experience being out in the wilderness, I know how to protect myself. You don’t need to worry.”
Moomin stared out at the mountain peaks. “I don’t need to, yet I can’t help but worry anyway.”
Snufkin smiled, shaking his head fondly. “You sound just like Moominmama.”
Swirling the water in the cup, Moomin hummed. “Well, you are like family to me.”
Something about that did not sit right with Snufkin. Not that he didn’t want to be part of Moomin’s family, but rather that he thought about their connection, their bond, in a different way.
He saw everything he loved about the world in Moomin’s eyes, then forgot it all instantly when Moomin looked back at him.
He just nodded.
They spent the rest of the night sitting outside on the ledge beneath the stars, making up new constellations with silly stories behind them.
Throughout his many months in isolation, Snufkin’s own thoughts were the only voice he heard for months. They were not rational, but when given an unconditional welcome and acceptance, they became calmer and less insistent over time. He reached a level of self awareness that most people were often too afraid to contend with.
Unfortunately, knowing that he was in love with his best friend did not make it any easier to know what to do with those emotions. Watching them go by like a drifting cloud was simpler. The only trouble was that these days, much like those in the winter sky above them now, those Thought Clouds were grey, heavy with rain, and did not move away quickly enough for him to forget they were there.
The next day was much colder, and Moomin was woken up early by the sound of his own teeth chattering. Sunlight could barely breach the thick blanket of fog, turning it into a yellow haze. Snufkin’s tent was still zipped up and a pang of loneliness sprung from his chest while he walked around the silent cave.
The fire had long gone out. The scenery beyond the cave entrance was hard to see, but Moomin knew it’d be the same as the previous day. Unchanging, jagged, giant rocks continued to loom before him.
His paws hurt and trembled, yet despite this, he lit a candle then sought out his pen to once again write to Snufkin.
Dear Snufkin,
I could tell you that right now it is very cold, however Papa would call that description “lacking intellectual stimulation and intrigue” so I will find five other ways to say this, because I am awake, you are not, and my only wish right now is to speak to you, but I can’t. Not even to say “Good Morning” or “Did you sleep well?”
I am freezing my tail off
The Groke has taken over the world
My nose is red, my cheeks have been rubbed raw, icicles have formed in my fur, and my ears are burning as I listen to the whispers of the falling snowflakes
My fingers ache in the winter wind as I clench and unclench them, trying to keep the feeling in their tips
The snow sparkles with ice crystals, hardened enough that newly fallen snow bounces on top of it every time a breeze stirs the air
There. I hope that sets the scene for you. Sorry my handwriting is not great, by the way. It’s difficult to control my fingers when they’re basically blocks of ice.
You are probably dreaming of some secluded meadow far, far away. I dreamed about swimming in the ocean and being eaten by a whale. I lived inside it, surviving off the fish it had already eaten. Then it started to digest me, but just when I was about to fall into its pool of stomach acid, I realised I had become the whale.
I was so delighted, I jumped as high as I could out of the water and splashed my massive new tail, and when I got back into the water, I skimmed the ocean floor, the sand scratched my belly just right. Somehow I can still feel a blowhole on the top of my head.
When you wake up, I won’t be able to ask you what you dreamed about. Not until nighttime. Here’s hoping I remember to do that.
Now that I think about it, this cave reminds me of the inside of the whale! And those stalagmites, they’re like the whale’s teeth, or the dangly bit at the back of its mouth. No wonder I had that dream! I’ve always been the type to see what’s imaginary, the potential, rather than what a thing actually is, like Snork does.
I wonder how he would view these mountains? Maybe he’d know the different types of mountains, the names of its parts, the plants and animals that grow and live on them. Though there’s not much wildlife here that I’ve seen.
Upon observing the cave more closely, it has become more interesting to me. Have you seen this rock next to my painting? It has flecks of gold and green in it. And the mountains have such an interesting texture, don’t you think? The snow isn’t distributed evenly on it because the surface is all bumpy. It would make a wonderful abstract painting.
I’ve just thought as well, I figured out why this is called the Lonely Mountain! Because there’s no homes here, of course there aren't, who would risk their life building a house here, where there are no resources? I wonder if the mountain appreciates your visits, Snufkin. You might be the one person who stays here the longest because nobody else can be as self sufficient and bold.
Moomin spent an hour or so looking at things and thinking deeply, trying to force himself to see past his initial perspective, occasionally taking notes. How would his friends see what he looked at? How did the mountain view the two of them seeking shelter in its cavities? Snufkin awoke not long after he did. He didn’t pay Moomin much mind, though Moomin did catch him watching him with interest out of the corner of his eye.
Perhaps this was why Snufkin enjoyed being alone. It would’ve been difficult to have ever thought about observing the world in this way, had he been distracted by someone else who was talking just for the sake of it. He would’ve lost his train of thought. Hearing someone else’s views would’ve diluted his own.
Snufkin went to the front of the cave to take his daily deep inhale of morning air, closing his eyes then opening them again as he exhaled, staring out at the scenery. When he returned to the cave, he sat back down and began setting up the fire. Moomin did the same as him, going out to breathe deeply through his snout, smelling the fresh, clean snow around him, the scent of burning wood that passed by from behind him, the sulphur from the candles they’d burned last night, and the mustyness of the cave.
Gently clanging the pot with his spoon, Snufkin indicated to Moomin when their breakfast was ready. He joined him, mouth salivating when he saw the meal. To his surprise when he concentrated, he could taste each ingredient individually, and could distinguish between the seasoning and the food. He licked his lips then gave Snufkin a satisfied thumbs up to thank him for the dish, and Snufkin returned the gesture.
Throughout the rest of the day Moomin explored his other senses. While playing the ukulele as Snufkin painted, he wondered why different notes made him feel different things. Minor notes elicited a sense of sadness, major chords lifted his spirits, and the same happened with slow versus fast tempos. He played several minor chords quickly, it sounded somehow both melancholy and uplifting, like a hero overcoming darkness to return to his quest, not recovered from the pain he’d just been through, yet going onward bravely.
As he finished his experimental song, he looked up from his instrument to see Snufkin and his painting of a nest. Earlier, there had been a bird in it, but Snufkin had lifted the paint off the wall and replaced it with two eggs; one broken, one still unhatched. The unhatched egg seemed to be unborn, never to wake up, and the other, its sibling, had had to fly away and leave them behind. Had Snufkin changed his mind about the bird due to being affected by Moomin’s song? The thought was curious indeed.
Moomin hadn’t had to remind himself of the witch’s “no talking” curse all day, he’d simply been so focused outward. He couldn’t really remember what he’d been thinking about and everything he’d written down felt like it’d been penned by someone else.
The cave grew darker as the day drew on. The moon wasn’t quite in place yet. Carefully, he wandered around the cave with his eyes closed and touched the walls, handled each of his possessions and explored their textures. His teddy was soft and plush. His boat was hard, smooth with rounded edges and had small holes for the windows. His whisk - he didn’t understand why he packed it - was metallic and the wires were springy when he pushed them.
He sat outside watching the clouds slowly roll by. Snufkin sat next to him, a few inches away. Even if he could’ve talked at this time, he found that he didn’t feel the need to. It was pleasant being in Snufkin’s presence. Just sitting together. Who would’ve thought that would be one of the best memories he had with him?
With Snorkmaiden, silence was usually excruciating. His head would almost explode from the desperation of trying to think of something interesting and romantic to say, worrying if he’d said something wrong, or if the silence was supposed to suggest to him that she was angry about something else entirely. She would’ve gotten fed up with Snufkin’s “no talking” rule within the first hour.
“I had a sensory day today, Snufkin,” he said when the moon had shifted far enough. “I saw, sniffed, tasted, heard, and touched lots of stuff. Do you ever have days like that?”
“Certainly. I listen closely to the fire, the birds, the wind for their songs. I take off my shoes and walk on top of the pine needles, or dip my toes in the river. Sometimes I practise lifting things with my feet.”
Moomin laughed, trying to picture Snufkin building a snowman that way. “I’ve never thought about trying that! Sounds difficult.”
“It is. Some people are ambidextrous, and that’s very handy, but I plan on making all my limbs useful for things nobody expects them to be used for.”
“Just for fun?”
“For the fun of it, and because it’s practical.”
“One day you could play the harmonica with your feet.”
“Yes, that’s the dream, alright. I’ll play you my Spring tune with my toes while walking towards you on my hands. Someday. You’ll see. Speaking of playing music, I quite enjoyed your song earlier.”
“I thought you couldn’t sense things while you painted?”
“Well, I didn’t sense it with my ears. I felt it. That’s the best way to experience music, in my opinion. To have it course through your body and alight your veins with its magic. Could you play it for me again? I’d like to actually hear your tune this time.”
Moomin blinked in surprise. “O- of course!” He stumbled across the cave and hurriedly retrieved his ukelele. He sat down heavily, trying to recall the chords he’d practised, fingers shaking with excitement. With a sigh, he calmed his nerves, and strummed the strings, keeping the tempo steady by tapping his foot. Down, down, up, up, down, up.
Snufkin didn’t look at him, knowing how easy it was to falter when being watched while performing, though when Moomin glanced at him he could tell how much he enjoyed it. Snufkin swayed in time with the beat, nodding his head a little, flashing a rare smile that showed his teeth and creased his eyes. The sight filled Moomin’s heart with love which he poured into his song.
When he finished, letting the last strum fade into the air, Snufkin’s head snapped to the side to look at him with brown eyes that sparkled.
Snufkin thought about playing a song for Moomin, or rather about Moomin. How he felt for him. His harmonica, well, it sounded sweet, but Snufkin couldn’t help but think it’d sound better alongside a flute to highlight his gentleness and unshakeable hope. A violin or two accompanying them to portray that melancholy and fear of losing him that Snufkin knew Moomin felt when he left each year. Or a trumpet, that would capture his showmanship and courage. Drums that represented their frustration in not being able to understand each other. Maybe even a vocal part, where his words would emanate with an unmistakable warmth and happiness that was essential to his character and contagious when near him.
The more he thought about Moomin and all of his idiosyncrasies, the more instruments he wanted to add to the song to represent different aspects of this wonderful feeling, until it was no longer just a simple song; it became a symphony. One with a slow, timid start then gradually rising in a crescendo with layers of sounds as complex and awe-inspiring as life itself.
Should he join a band, an orchestra? It didn’t appeal to him to be told what to play. Or to tell others what to play. He just hoped that one day he heard one playing the right kind of song and Moomin happened to be there to hear it.
Realising he’d been quiet for some time, he pulled Moomin’s paw away from the instrument and held it tightly in his own. “I’m going to remember that song for the rest of my life.”
Moomin put the instrument down, swallowing thickly. “I-I take it you, er, you liked it then?”
“I loved it. I’ve never heard anything like that before. It was, it was… Words are failing me because it was indescribably beautiful.”
Moomin’s snout turned bright red and he cleared his throat. “I like to think it was one part hope, two parts Winter woe, and for the rest… the vulnerability of reflecting on the past, with all its ups and downs, and accepting it.”
“That’s… That’s so mature, Moomin. I’m- I’m so proud of you. Your wisdom has truly grown.”
“It was just a song,” Moomin covered his face bashfully with his free hand.
“One with meaning though, just like your painting. You do everything with such purpose like - like everything is important to you, and you know how to express that.”
Moomin thought about the letter he’d written, about the part near the end when he’d mentioned wanting to hug Snufkin on the bridge.
“I don’t always know how to express it. Meaning doesn’t mean much if it’s not understood by someone else.” After a moment’s hesitation, he squeezed Snufkin’s paw. “Otherwise it just becomes” -he shook his head, trying to think of the right word- “unrealised intention.”
Snufkin rubbed his thumb across Moomin’s paw, watching the individual strands of fur rise and fall like grass swaying in the wind. “When art is hung in a gallery, they have wall text next to them with the artist’s name, what they used to paint it, as well as descriptions. Sometimes people need a little help to understand what they are trying to communicate, and when they do, it can make the picture more special.”
“D-doesn’t that defeat the purpose? You know… Take away the mystery and all the- all the other possible interpretations?” Moomin snuck several glances down at their joined paws, feeling very distracted.
“It depends on how detailed the explanation is, I suppose. That’s why, when I see a lengthy wall text, I switch it with another painting’s text, just to make people really think about what they’re looking at.”
Moomin laughed, loving how easily Snufkin humoured him, then changed the topic when he remembered to ask what Snufkin dreamt of the previous night.
“I dreamt that I was a meteorite, a shooting star about to hit the planet, about to hit Moominvalley and destroy everything. But at the moment I hit the ground, I became myself again. During the impact I had created a crater, which Moominmama said would make for an interesting garden and invited me in for tea.”
They continued chatting for a while, gradually coming to a lull as Snufkin wore out. They stopped holding hands, and Moomin watched the fire, rubbing his suddenly cold paws. For a moment, he saw his family and friends twirling in the flames like they did around the bonfire at the Winter Solstice. Then he blinked and they were gone. He was starting to understand what Snufkin meant when he said the fire danced and sang.
He got up, listened to the flames, tapped his chest in time with each crackle, giving himself a beat. Going with the flow, he danced around the fire.
“Hey, be careful.” Snufkin stopped him from knocking over the pot stand.
Snufkin considered taking Moomin’s hand to dance together with him, but Moomin’s dance was erratic, unpredictable, his arms swung all over the place and he spun around whenever the desire struck him: this was a dance that could only be performed solo.
Firelight made Moomin’s fur glow and his face did too as he smiled, eyes closed. His heedless bliss was a distant star, each step a dazzling twinkle, body shining with a joy that reached the edges of the universe.
Moomin’s lack of need for him was foreign. He’d left to be in his own world with no word of goodbye, just like when there was no note from him after he vanished from Moominvalley to live on the island. The memory dissipated Snufkin’s desire to dance, so all he could do now was sit and wait for Moomin to return from his kinaesthetic adventure.
Later, when they said good night and went into their separate tents, Moomin decided to write Snufkin another letter.
Dear Snufkin,
After my sensory day, I wasn’t sure what to do with my observations. All of them were fleeting, difficult to recall fully even just a moment after experiencing them.
Then I had some realisations.
Despite my efforts to be independent, I’m always roped back into the safety that my parents provide. Perhaps that’s why I admire you so much. You don’t allow yourself to be coddled, you don’t follow other people’s whims, and you are true to your desires.
I can see how being highly regarded would be uncomfortable. The pressure to be a role model is not something you want to feel obliged to. I can’t remove that admiration completely, after all you are so worthy of respect and appreciation, I can think of a million things that are fantastic about you, though I will not put you on a pedestal because that is not seeing you as you truly are. Viewing you in one particular way restricts you, like giving an explanation to a painting. It would help me understand you if you had your own little text box, but honestly, your mystery is part of what makes you so interesting!
It’s not just the seasons that come and go: everything does. Thoughts, feelings, sights, sounds, smells, and sensations. You yourself are a part of nature, a creature, an experience of life, and so am I. We are people, but our friendship is an experience. Until now I have viewed your absence as something painful, something forced upon me, but having experienced true solitude myself in this cave (sort of) I see that allowing you to be alone is how I can nourish and support you.
It doesn’t make sense for me to cling to you in the same way there is no use in putting my life on hold while waiting for the sun to shine. We have many wonderful memories, but they aren’t as honest as they were back then, they’re now covered with a filter of sentimental exaggeration.
I’ve asked for too much of you by coming here. After I leave the mountain, after I hibernate, after Winter melts into Spring; I will not wait for you. I’ll try not to miss you so much. Instead, I will look forward to your return.
The next day, Snufkin awoke with a headache, and after that, everything seemed to go wrong. He tripped, fell onto his tent, and knocked over the poles. He burned his fingers on the pot and in his shock dropped his plate on the ground before he could even have a bite of his breakfast. He tore a page in his book when trying to reach for a cup of water.
Snufkin sat outside the cave for hours with his arms sullenly wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. His brow remained furrowed and his bottom lip stuck out in a petulant pout. The clouds were a threatening dark grey, hanging low in the sky.
Moomin came up to him, touched his shoulder, then drew back when Snufkin didn’t respond. He left his side to go back into the cave.
It wasn’t often that Snufkin fell into a dark mood he couldn’t get out of, but when he did, it affected those around him. That was part of the reason why he left gatherings early, escaping before it could reach that point. Better for Moomin to escape his gloom than get caught in it too.
But then a few minutes later, a plate was pushed under his nose, and he raised his head to find that Moomin had returned, was smiling down at him, having made him another dish, and holding his ukelele in his other paw. He sat near Snufkin and began to play the same song as yesterday. Only this time, there were lyrics too, sung with a sonorous and tender voice.
It’s another day that’s gone so wrong
When the sadness stays and just won’t go
But time moves quickly along
Even though we’re full of sorrow
As if to tell us we can move onward too
Before you despair, you should know
Seconds pass like all of our feelings do
It’s alright if it takes a while
You need to savour your tears too
Just as you would with a smile
“That’s all I have. I just wrote it a few minutes ago,” Moomin whispered, while plucking the strings, a slow version of the melody, single notes instead of full chords. His eyes lowered, focusing on them. “The rhyming scheme was a little basic-”
Snufkin interrupted his self criticism by throwing his arms around Moomin’s neck and pulling him into a consuming embrace. Their torsos met in the middle, slotting together as one rose and the other fell falteringly. Moomin wrapped his arms around Snufkin’s back, both of them sighing as they nestled into the other’s shoulder.
Moomin buzzed with joy, his stomach flipped over and over again as they held each other. A few minutes had to have passed yet neither showed any sign of wanting to part. He wanted to stay like this forever, alone with Snufkin on this mountain, until they grew long, winding beards, until the seas rose and pulled them down into the depths; still entwined.
Alas, Snufkin eventually pulled back and wiped his face. He returned to looking out into the distance. Moomin decided to give him space and went back inside to warm up by the fire. His eyes couldn’t leave Snufkin for long though.
He wanted to console him even more and say whatever it took to lift him out of his dark mood because it hurt to see him in pain. Reaching into his bag for a snack, his hands instead found his pile of letters. So many things he wanted to say…
Before he had time to dwell on it, he marched over to Snufkin and handed the letters to him, then sat so his back was facing Snufkin’s.
The papers shuffled. Snufkin responded to what he read with quiet hums and short huffs of amusement.
Moomin now had time to dwell and was starting to regret his decision. The letters were so embarrassing! How could he ever face Snufkin again, now that he knew what Moomin was really thinking?!
After reading Moomin’s letters, Snufkin didn't say anything for a moment. Moomin turned around and watched Snufkin’s shoulders fall.
Snufkin took a deep breath in.
"I’m sorry to have kept you waiting on that bridge so long. I think… I think it’s time you heard what happened earlier this year.” Snufkin cleared his throat.
“I’d been struggling to come up with my Spring tune, I wanted to finish it before I came back. This small creature came to my campsite, he put me in a bad mood for a while because he kept pestering me. He wanted me to name him, so I gave him the name Teety-Woo. And then when he didn’t pester me, when he left me alone, I was sad.
I had a dream that night, a nightmare really, where I left my camp and went to Moominvalley. I started running, and didn't stop even when I got tangled in roots and lost my harmonica, rushing towards the house, going round to the back and climbing up the ladder. Then I saw you holding Teety-Woo. The two of you couldn’t hear me so I banged on the window, but then I fell backwards down into a swirling void and woke up.
By not telling you this, I've been lying by omitting the truth, which is: I really wanted to go back to Moominvalley. My desire to be in Moominvalley has become just as strong as my longing to find solitude. I’ve been so torn between these two. But it’s time for me to stop prioritising my need for solitude, especially when I’m in the valley, because I’ll never not want to go back. I need to be fully present, to make the most of it, when I’m there. When I’m with you."
A strong gust of wind blew Snufkin’s hat off of his head, sending it flying into the cave, and it began to rain. Tufts of his messy brown hair were swept up. His eyes burned and intrigued Moomin with their intensity, and without being aware of the movement, he leaned in.
Then Snufkin leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was a delicate branch of affection, exposed to frigid uncertainty, while offering flowers that blossomed, revealing their love as they had long wished to do.
Moomin felt the heat radiating from Snufkin’s cheeks, felt his arms shaking as he caressed them. When love bubbled up in his stomach and rose to his chest, Moomin couldn’t help but giggle shyly. He wanted to stay like this until their bones were reduced to dust.
They parted for air, but it left Moomin’s lungs quickly as Snufkin cupped his face. “Oh, Snufkin!”
Snufkin’s eyebrows pinched upwards as his smile wobbled. “It’s okay if you miss me when I leave, because I’ll miss you. I won’t like that I’ll be thinking of you all the time, when I’m supposed to be by myself, enjoying the world; but I will. I’ll miss you so, so much. I love you. I’ll love you no matter where I am or how long we’re apart.”
It took a few seconds to process Snufkin’s confession, then when he overcame his shock, his tail wagged wildly and the words poured out, “I love you too! I love you.” Moomin buried his snout in Snufkin’s shoulder, an embrace just as tender as the kiss, and teared up. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to say those words to you, how foolish of me. You should’ve heard me say it every single day we’ve been together, and now you will. I love you!”
“It’s okay, Moomin. I… I always felt your love.” Snufkin leaned into his hug so their faces touched, and he stroked the back of Moomin’s neck. “I just didn’t realise it was love in the romantic way.”
“Neither did I, to be honest… Not for a long time. Of course, I love you as a friend as well. We’ll always be friends.”
“We will!”
While they held each other, the clouds and rain eventually cleared away to reveal a sky filled with ribbons of green and white light that moved along like a slow, winding river. They shifted away from each other to sit and look up.
“Woah, is this it?! Is this the surprise?” Moomin gasped, frozen in place.
“Yes. How do you like it?”
“It’s just as you said, it’s magical! It’s magnificent! I wish the sky could be like this every night!”
“Wouldn’t be as special if it happened that often, would it?” A glance at Moomin showed he was unable to contain his happiness and Snufkin felt his own swell up. He wouldn’t brush it aside. “It is a shame that it’s rare.”
Moomin pointed up as he watched the show in awe. “It’s us!” The light reflected in his pure blue eyes.
“S-sorry?”
“The lights, they’re showing the two of us, Snufkin, look!”
Snufkin squinted at the aurora. “Oh, I see! The colours do seem to match ours. The green is a little more neon though, I don’t think it’d suit me.” Snufkin imagined the shimmering lights being their souls, and could almost hear the echo of their laughter.
“The sky has seen us, Snufkin. Now everyone will know that you kissed me.” Moomin nudged him playfully with his elbow.
Snufkin’s eyes widened as he sputtered. He jumped up and went into the cave and retrieved his hat just to hide his burning face beneath its brim. When he recovered, he continued watching the sky, tilting his head to the side and resting it on Moomin’s shoulder. Moomin sighed and nuzzled up against Snufkin, feeling completely at peace.
All things - good, bad, or neutral - had to come to an end.
After an hour the aurora borealis flickered out of existence without returning for an encore.
But instead of wistfully wondering when the lights would return, Moomin internally thanked the sky for its colourful creation, and prepared to go to bed, eager to be wrapped up in the warmth of his blankets, to lay his head on the pillow, and find that Snufkin’s kiss was the final thing on his mind before he fell asleep.