Blood Runs Thicker than Water

       Joxter took in the whole place, with a surprised “Oh, got it” upon noticing Moominmamma. “A cigarette for a weary vagabond? No? Pity.” One of the captors, a moomintroll with a bandaged arm, prodded him with a boot toe and smirked. "He was halfway to the Orange Pillars. Put up some fight at first. Best watch him, Captains." "We do." Moominmamma’s voice was glacier-calm, just as it had been during the prison raid. "Mind your movements, Joxter. You’re quick, but not quicker than a bullet." Snufkin glanced at her and froze. Her revolver was trained on Joxter with the ease of long practice. Well, her brothers did the same. It seemed excessive for the slumping, rumpled mumrik on the floor, with a tinge of grey in the dark, greasy hair. "'kay, no problem," Joxter mock-surrendered, dragging himself up and into a chair next to Snufkin. Too close for comfort. "Fighting’s too much effort anyway." His lazy smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Glad to see you made yourself away alive." "I didn’t." Snufkin’s ankle throbbed at the slightest move, a silent scream of rebuttal. "Without the Moomin family, I’d be dead." "That’s what I meant." Joxter leaned closer, voice smugly content. "Like any mumrik, you used that pretty face of yours to charm others into saving you." His fingers brushed Snufkin’s cheek— —Snufkin slapped him away before thinking, claws out, raking Joxter’s hand. "I didn’t!" Joxter yelped, inspecting the cuts swelling with red. Snufkin recoiled, hating his own loss of control, but the lie demanded protest. "I’d never use my friends. I’m not you!" "But you are." Joxter licked his wounds, ignoring the pirates’ shifting stances. "Blood runs thicker, boy. Look at yourself—claws bared, eyes glowing. You’re more mumrik than you admit. Though," he chuckled, "you’ll need my tips to master the tail." "Stop it!" Snufkin’s voice cracked. "These claws are just flesh. I choose how to use them—and who, not what, to be. And this ‘I’ has nothing to do with you. A couple of tricks does not count. You didn’t teach me reading the stars, or doing dishes, or saying thank you or sorry. You don’t even remember my name!" Joxter sighed, as if disappointed by a child’s tantrum. "Hah. Youth. Thinking mind and body are separate. Wait ‘til the next ‘No Trespassing’ sign and see how your ancestry decides for you. Or ask her." He jerked his chin at Moominmamma. "Plays housewife, but the gun fits her paw, doesn’t it? Blood always wins." "Keep your tongue off our sister!" Gustav barked, half-rising, but Moominmamma waved him to calm down. “This,” she swayed her gun ever so lightly in direction of Joxter but cast a quick glance at Snufkin, “is the third time I hold it since leaving Dire Straits. The second was to save him. And you remember the first, to remind you of manners years ago. No kills, all three times.” “So,” Joxter curled his lips, “you won’t kill me, right?” “No. I’ll aim for your knee.” “Wanna check if I can bust your brain?” the moomin with an eyepatch, Gugo, flashed such an unhinged grin, that even Snufkin believed him. "You’re wrong." Snufkin caught Joxter’s stare. His energy waned, but his voice steadied. "Moominmamma stormed a prison with one gun, risking the lives of her child and husband. Moomintroll carried me through gunfire. Even a tiny mymble fought weaslings for me. They were willing to bleed for me. This blood runs thicker, not yours. I may be a mumrik, but I’ll never be a selfish jerk like you!" The outburst left him drained and panting, but Joxter was hardly affected. He shook his head, almost mournful. "With that attitude, Snufkin, you’ll die young. See, I remember your name, I just think names are overrated… Jerk, you say. Terminology. I call it ‘free’. Your only way to survive is to rely on yourself. You weren’t expected to cover up for me. True freedom means no bonds, not to parents, not to friends or lovers. You break up all ties—or they break you down." "I am free because I choose those ties. And they hold me up, not down. The place you’re kept in is a prison—but the place you stay in on your own is a stronghold. A home." “Big words.” Joxter yawned. It stung. Snufkin was aware of his own habit to deliver meaningful but vague phrases. The habit shared with Joxter. Moominmamma stood, revolver glinting. "Enough. I see you won’t apologise or repent, but you will do Snufkin one favour. Very low-effort one, don’t you worry." She slid papers across the table. "Sign this. A confession to the crimes they’ve pinned on him. With your picture, we’ll deliver it to the police of the King’s Island." Gunnar (if Snufkin remembered right the name of the moomin with bandana) grinned. "And with fingerprints! A new human invention, they say no two creatures in the world have the same fingerpad patterns." "And if you refuse," Gugo added, "we have a number of ancestral traditions. Bet you’d appreciate it. Like, nail you to a raft and leave for the gulls and sharks as a cocktail party." Snufkin tensed. He didn’t want Joxter dead, just gone. But those moomins didn’t seem to bluff. And hadn’t Moominmamma mentioned them being ruthless to outsiders? Her own cold gaze and stance didn’t betray anything. But would Joxter believe them? “How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?” Oh yes, he believed—but didn’t trust these people. “You have my word upon it.” Moominmamma watched him closely. “Is it worth anything?” “It is,” the ear-pierced moomin interfered. “I confirm it as the clan captain. But if you think everyone is as treacherous as you then you’ll have to gamble between sure death and potential one. And make your stake now, my patience is short.” Joxter stared at the table. "Fine. Just some signs uprooted, right?" He reached for a quill and scrawled a jagged letter at every sheet. “You know it’s not just signs.” Moominmamma’s voice could freeze an ocean. “There are murders, too. Like the old hemulen lady who gave you shelter.” "Ah." Joxter yawned again. "An accident. She was getting suspicious about my night business, and all I wanted was to treat her to a cup of tea with her own sleep syrup and walk away to find a new lodging. Didn’t guess the dosage right, her frail heart gave out. Too bad." “So you say. But why dissect and eat her?” “Ain’t it sort of romantic? That way, she stayed with me even beyond death.” Snufkin recoiled in the chair, clapping a hand over his mouth. He remembered the old hemulen’s dusty parlour, the pan of suspicious stew—right, he hadn’t eaten it, but the sickening memory flashed in his head: Joxter cross-legged and hatless on the floor, plucking strings, the last of that dubious stewscraped from the pan. "Why the face?" Joxter raised an eyebrow at him. "Our ancestors were predators and scavengers." Snufkin didn’t have time for another rebuttal. The smaller door of the room rumbled and crept open, and the next second— “Where?! Where’s that freakin’ bastard, I’ll rip his throat out!” A furious red whirl scuttled under the table and nearly caught Joxter’s foot but Moominmamma was faster. She held up kicking and cursing Little My and shook her gently. “Quiet, Little My. Wait for your turn. Now it’s still Snufkin’s.” She turned to him with an encouraging smile. “Is there anything else you wanted to know?” “No.” Snufkin didn’t have a desire or power to argue further. He didn’t even want to ask the question running at the back of his mind since Moomintroll has told him… Father, why did you abandon me? The answer was in plain sight. And he’d prefer to have that answer out of sight. All their similarities, in looks or habits, now felt like stains. Literally—he noticed red smear on his fingertips. Oh, right, the slap, loss of control. His father’s blood. Snufkin closed his eyes, shivering despite the stifling heat of the hall. His skin prickled, whether from withdrawal or the weight of Joxter’s gaze, he couldn’t tell. "Now can I get at that douchebag? You’re not letting him go, are you?" Little My’s voice cut through the murmurs. "Bloody hell, she’s a proper piranha!" One of the pirate brothers chuckled. "May we keep her?" "Why, little urchin, we’ll maroon him on Sharktooth Rock and he may go to all fifty paces of its span!" another guffawed. "See if he swims back!" "He’d better stay there," My snapped, "because now he’s number one and two on my shit list!" A hand settled on Snufkin’s shoulder—Moominmamma’s. "As agreed, then," she said above him. The wheelchair jerked forward, leaving the room’s noise behind the door. The corridor was cooler, quieter. Her paw lingered. "Tired?" "Yeah." "You’re not angry? About this sudden meeting?" "No. No, it’s—it was right. Thank you." The words were honest, but they left him oddly empty. He fumbled for something else. "Could we… go outside first? Just the hospital courtyard. I need air." "Of course. We’ll fetch a blanket, it’s turned chilly. Tea?" "Yes, please. Sorry. I’m nothing but trouble—" "Nonsense." Her voice softened. "You deserved to look him in the eye and decide for yourself. And to come out stronger than he’ll ever be." “And…” Snufkin glanced down on his lap. “Can I wash hands first, please?” *** The wind had shifted. It rushed through the garden now, whistling through the pergola’s beams and rattling the vines. Steel-grey waves chopped the sea below, their white crests like fleeing sheep. Roses trembled, shedding petals onto the flagstones. The sky was completely overcast, but the muted grey was a relief. No glare, no shadows. Just quiet. "Snufkin! There you are!" Moomintoll skidded to a halt at the garden’s arch, chest heaving. His ears twitched, a silent question in the eyes. “Didn’t you go with your cousins?” Snufkin prompted. “Oh, I did, at first, but then Little My recognised the Adventure moored in the cave harbour, and she guessed the pirates had seized it together with Joxter, so she ran to look for him, and I… stayed back, and then went for you but you weren’t in the infirmary, and then I got somewhat lost in the tunnels…” He sat down at a bench, examined his toes before adding, deflated. "Is he… here? Did you…?" "Yes." Snufkin hugged himself. He had no words for what had happened, no way to shape that ugliness into something Moomintroll could bear. Dear considerate moomin misread his silence. "If you want to be alone, I’ll go! I just—" "No." Snufkin’s voice cracked. "Stay. I don’t… I don’t want to talk. But stay. Please." Moomintroll froze, ears bolt upright, tail quivering. Then, he jumped up in a sudden burst of energy: "Right! But first—wait!" He dashed inside, returning moments later with cupped paws. "Here." Snufkin’s breath hitched. His harmonica. The wooden body worn smooth from years of use, the metal plates with floral etchings. "It was still in my backpack, just as I had left it. And your backpack was there, too. Tent and bedroll and all.” Snufkin took its familiar weight gingerly, the wood warm from Moomintroll’s paws, but then let it rest back on his knees. He could have searched for a melody from the sounds of the day—sharp gusts, distant waves and moans of the gulls, the rustle of dry leaves behind—but he doubted he had the strength to hold the instrument steady, let alone control his breath. Moomintroll nodded and sat beside him, stealing glances every few seconds. Finally, with a determined sigh, he reached out and placed his paw over Snufkin’s hand. That velvety touch drew him out of black pit of memories, pinned him to the here-and-now, with the white ticks of seabirds, cold wind crawling under the plaid… Oh, and the prickling urge to smoke. He could almost feel the half-crushed packet of pirate cigarettes in his pocket, the scent of loose tobacco. Not the coarse stuff rolled into cigarettes, but the kind he used for his pipe. The same kind Joxter preferred. If ties can be chosen, they can also be cut. "I think I’ll quit smoking," Snufkin said aloud. Moomintroll blinked. "Wow. That’ll be hard, won’t it?" He hesitated, as if weighing what to say more, then fell silent again. Considerate, wonderful Moomintroll. The same Moomintroll Snufkin left every autumn, and sometimes even in summer, without warning. The heat of his argument with Joxter had long faded, leaving only the dull ache of withdrawal and a bitter aftertaste. “Maybe Joxter was right. Maybe I am just like—” He shook Moomintroll’s paw off and unsheathed his claws over the harmonica’s metal deck for a moment. The gesture was already coming easy. Too easy for his comfort. "Don’t be ridiculous!” Moomintroll snorted. “You’re nothing like him! You’ve said you always come back. And you’ve never left me in trouble. Remember when our Inspector Hemulen arrested me and Snorkmaiden for the signs you had torn down? You broke into the police station and confessed! If that’s not the exact opposite of what Joxter did, I don’t know what is!" Snufkin wanted to argue that the stakes had been lower, Moominvalley’s rustic cell was nowhere near the Chancellor’s prison, but the mention of signs brought another thought. "I can’t walk past a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. What if that—what if I do leave a graveyard behind me, too? Beside those who did die because of me at the island." "No." Moomintroll’s voice was firm. "For one, Joxter doesn’t lose sleep over it like you do. And two, I don’t believe you’d ever tear down a sign that truly mattered. In Moominvalley, the worst you’ve done is bruise park guard's pride and hairdos. And you always help little critters out of trouble, I bet there are much more lives that you've saved than... Remember the Fire Spirit, the lengths you went to bring it home?" He paused, then batted eyes. "Wait. Are we… not being quiet anymore?" The abrupt shift made Snufkin huff a laugh, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. Though the example with the Fire Spirit was not a good one, in the end. Behind them, someone cleared their throat. "Right, boys," Moominmamma announced, just as she would at home, "you’ll catch a cold out here. Let’s go in for tea. And how about lunch?" "I wouldn’t say no," Snufkin admitted. He pulled his hand free to tuck the harmonica into his pocket and fished out the remaining cigarettes and matches. "Moominmamma, do you know a hemulen sailor with sore shoulder? I borrowed these from him. Could you return them with my thanks? I won’t be using them anymore." *** The wind had changed again overnight, thinning the clouds so that sunlight flickered now and then across the infirmary courtyard. Yesterday’s ghost of a mournful autumn melody had vanished. Snufkin listened to the breeze, the distant sea, the rustle of olive leaves, trying to catch the day’s new tune. It hovered just out of reach. Moomintroll sat beside him on the bench, swinging his legs and content with the silence. But the twin ratty cousins, Guido and Guillaume (though which was which remained a mystery, and also Moomintroll had explained privately that they looked very much like moomin ancestor species), stared at Snufkin with unblinking anticipation, their tails stirring up little clouds of dust. How could he disappoint such an audience? So he played All Small Beasts Should Have Bows in Their Tails, and just like that, the twins’ tails bristled with delight. Within moments, they were spinning around the yard, humming wordlessly along, absolutely out of tune, and Moomintroll, ever eager, joined in. The middle cousin, Guu, pretended to be above such rustic pastimes, but the twitch of his tail betrayed him. At least he wasn’t demanding instructions on how to blow up a power station. And the older, Günther, was absent. Maybe it had to do with three long, narrow ships sailing away past the island earlier in the morning. Then, abruptly, Guu leapt to attention, saluting someone behind Snufkin. The twins followed suit. Snufkin lowered his harmonica and turned. "Hello, Uncle Gugo!" Moomintroll chirped first. Snufkin muttered a greeting of his own, regretting the loss of his shielding hat once more. Gugo’s single visible eye (the patch was finally in its proper place) pinned him with a sharp, appraising stare that left him uneasy. "Right then, scram, you lot," Gugo announced, oddly cheerful. "Grown-ups need to talk." The cousins obediently filed out, though Guu earned an almost affectionate cuff on the head as he passed. Moomintroll shifted closer to the wheelchair, as if to shield it. Gugo sighed. "This concerns you too, nephew." Moomintroll’s shoulders hunched, but he didn’t move, just glanced at Snufkin, hesitating. "Well?" Gugo’s voice hardened slightly. "In this family, we respect our elders." Seeing no effect, he grinned. "Oh, relax. I’m not about to eat your boyfriend." Snufkin stiffened, but before he could protest the insinuation, Moomintroll—after one last fleeting look—dashed inside. And, notably, he didn’t correct Gugo about the boyfriend remark. Maybe he didn’t even know what it meant. That would be just like him. "We’re just friends," Snufkin said curtly, tucking the harmonica away. No doubt Joxter’s comment about his "pretty face" had put ideas in the pirates’ heads. "Joxter was wrong." "What’s your father got to do with it?" Gugo scoffed. "Anyone with eyes can see it." "What did you want to discuss?" Snufkin redirected, though the knot in his stomach suggested he wouldn’t like the answer. Just as he didn’t like the way the pirate captain positioned himself between him and the sun, as if to remain shaded while seeing the other’s reactions clearly in the light. The wind brought slight smell of better, cigar-grade tobacco from him, irritating Snufkin further. Gugo didn’t get straight to the point. "Doc says you’ll pull through. Not as good as new, but you’ll keep both feet." "I’m grateful to Doc. And to all of you," Snufkin replied, entirely sincere. He folded his hands in his lap, fingers splayed to keep his claws from slipping out even by accident. "You’re welcome. Family comes first for us. Were it you alone, we wouldn’t have lifted a whisker, but our sister claimed you." Gugo’s voice softened, just a fraction. "She’s rarely wrong about folk. If she says there’s such a thing as a decent mumrik, unlike your dad or our local legend, Selkie—we believe her. Though… not a domesticated one, are you, eh?" He winked. Snufkin stayed silent, unsure where this was leading. "You’ll be off wandering again, won’t you?" The question caught him off guard. "I—I suppose. But it looks like not this winter. I hadn’t thought that far ahead." "Then here’s your chance to repay the favour. Don’t fret, it won’t take more effort than any mumrik’s usual business. Walk, watch. If you spot something interesting like ship clusters, new settlements, a fine house with high fences and barbed wire, just send word with a swift or gull." Snufkin swallowed. So that’s it. They wanted a scout. At least they weren’t asking him to ferry opium or worse—yet. In for an inch, in for a mile. And he couldn’t refuse outright, not when escape wasn’t an option, not when he owed them. The last thing he wanted was to take their favour for granted, to use them and vanish—like Joxter. But Moominmamma had fled this family once. If their business had repelled her, he’d share her opinion by default. "Well," he began, biting his lip, "a lame mumrik won’t spot more than a bird would." "Oh, you’d be surprised!" Gugo leaned in conspiratorially. "Just for your private ear, birds are fine for simple tasks, like delivering a message to Point B. Or spotting a one-masted boat with a certain red-hatted rogue at the helm. But analysis is for lads like you. Sharp eyes, sharper mind, and a nose for trouble." "I… prefer quiet places. Wilderness. Not much use to you there." "Don’t sell yourself short. The wealthy love nesting in the back of beyond, far from angry mobs and fair shares. Or," Gugo added, "it needn’t be folk at all. We’re not opposed to diversifyingthe ways to earn our daily bread. Hot springs unknown to locals. Cave or marsh passes that cut days off a journey. Pretty stones in caves where no one appreciates them…" The thought came unbidden—the garnet gorge near Moominvalley, the one Sniff had once tried to plunder. Snufkin shoved the memory aside, but not fast enough. "Ah! I see you know just the sort of place!" Gugo’s voice dripped with smug satisfaction. Snufkin cursed himself inwardly. Would he have to give away the gorge now? Get it stripped bare, its guardian dragon shot dead by pirates without a blink? Principles rose bitter in his throat. "I’ve never wanted to harm anyone," he said, voice tight. "Yes, I’ve—unintentionally—caused deaths. But I won’t risk it again. If tearing down a sign can kill, then…" He bit back the word robbery. "Larger interference certainly would." "Perish the thought!" Gugo gasped in theatrical horror. "Our sister will plan the operations, strategic genius that she is. You know her nicety and precision. She’d never allow unnecessary casualties. You trust her, don’t you?" That was a low blow. Snufkin floundered. Gugo was cutting off every escape route, and now, sensing weakness, he pressed on. "Besides," the pirate added smoothly, "you might want allies when—and I mean when, not if—you’re in real trouble again. That pissant Chancellor won’t scrub you from his wanted list even when he gets your dad’s confession. And thanks to our dear brother-in-law’s blathering, he now knows about Moominvalley." Ice flooded Snufkin’s veins. Visions flashed—armed hemulens and schnapses swarming the valley, weaslings kicking down doors, the Moominhouse in flames. "Oh, he’s not half as powerful as he pretends," Gugo continued, almost casually. "We can monitor his movements, slap him down when needed. Even if it brings us to a direct conflict with him and the other islands supporting his government. But agents, patrols, skirmishes… All that costs money." The truth hit home. There was no choice. Moominpappa had named Moominvalley in court. Its safety, the safety of every creature there, friends or not—well, Snufkin wasn’t their only hope, but he could help. To stay away would be exactly what Joxter had done. No matter how much he wished that Joxter had been wrong, the ties were already drowning him. "I—" Light, quick footsteps echoed from the infirmary behind them. "Gugo!" Moominmamma’s voice sliced through the air. "What are you doing? I believe I’ve asked you not to badger him!” For a fleeting moment, the pirate captain seemed to shrink, his shoulders hunching like a scolded child’s, but he quickly recovered, raising his paws in a show of surrender. "It was me asking for help, not him," Moominmamma said firmly, coming between Snufkin and her brother. "Which makes it my debt to repay, not his. Is that clear?" "Oh, come now," Gugo backpedalled, though his grin remained. "This was just a private chat! No debts, no favours—what if he wants to earn a bit of coin? Or help his friends?" "No." Her tone turned icy. "All he’ll earn is trouble. People aren’t blind, they’ll connect a mumrik’s presence with your raids soon enough. They’ll brand his whole kind as accomplices to… ‘noble Vikings’." Her pause before the euphemism was pointed. "Mumriks have already poor reputation. This could make them outlaws, hunted from every town—" "Alright, alright!" Gugo actually retreated a step, hands raised, and then caught sight of Moomintroll hovering in the doorway, wide-eyed. Straightening abruptly, he levelled his belt with a scabbard and bolster and strode off, though not without a final, knowing wink at Snufkin. Moominmamma waited until his footsteps faded before turning to her son. "You did a right thing fetching me. Now please call Pappa and Little My here, and try to coax Snork and Hodgkins out too. We have matters to discuss." Moomintroll saluted and vanished into the infirmary’s shadows. The moment he was gone, Moominmamma knelt before Snufkin’s wheelchair, taking his hands in hers, warm and white, so much like Moomintroll’s. Her eyes, usually calm and soft, were sharp with urgency. And she didn’t smell of pastry and spice and herbs like back in the Moominvalley—only of the same peculiar mix of salt, tobacco and torch smoke common to the whole place. "You look shaken. I can guess what my brother asked of you. Tell me you didn’t agree?" "I— No, but… It doesn’t matter." His fingers twitched under hers. "Thank you for defending me, but I can’t refuse. If there’s anything—anything—I can do to keep Moominvalley safe, I must. You understand that, don’t you?" She must understand. Hadn’t she faced the same choice herself, judging by her words about debt? And if she had chosen the dubious path, how could Snufkin possibly stand aside? "But not at the expense of others!" Moominmamma’s voice was firm, though her paws trembled slightly. "That’s my family’s way, dividing the world into ‘us’ and ‘them,’ helping the former by trampling the latter. I ran from that. I won’t let my children walk the same road." Her eyes softened as she looked at him. "You’re a good, gentle soul. Please stay that way. There are other, harmless ways to help. For instance…" She released his hands but remained kneeling, her gaze dropping guiltily. "It would ease my mind greatly to know you won’t be involved in crime. And not just you." A pause. "Like my brother, I’ve come to ask for your help too." "I’ll do anything!" The words burst out before he could stop them. Moominmamma’s ears twitched, as if she braced herself. "Then… support me at the family meeting now. Ask Moomintroll to return to Moominvalley. Or—do you want to go back yourself?" "Yes! Of course, right now, if I could." The memories rose thick in his throat: the blue round house, the little bridge over the stream, the beach, the golden autumn groves. "But why wouldn’t Moomintroll want to return?" "Because I’m staying." Her voice was quiet but final. "I owe my first family this. I left them, made them believe I was dead, they grieved. And now they need a strategist, especially if we’re to oppose the Chancellor." She hesitated. "Don’t worry, the Dire Straits would’ve clashed with him eventually. Our islands are too close, our interests too intertwining. Better now, before he grows stronger. But I fear that my loved ones won’t want to leave. Moominpappa is thrilled by this ‘adventure.’ Little My fits in like she was born here. She already has admirers. And Moomintroll… I’m so afraid he might decide to join the pirates too." Her voice wavered. "I’ll explain everything to him, but if you ask him to come with you…" She stood up at last, waiting for his answer. Snufkin couldn’t speak. His thoughts spun. Returning to Moominvalley, staying clear of piracy was tempting. Moominmamma was right through and through, in every aspect, but… "You’re asking me to make him choose between you and me?" he murmured, more to himself. “That’s… that will hurt him too much! And I don’t think I’ll overweight you anyway…” "He’ll follow you, I know." Moominmamma sat finally down on the bench, her voice steady. "Children leave their parents eventually. It’s natural, and nothing to feel guilty about." A wind gust dove into the yard, shaking half-dry vines and rose bushes, tugging at Moominmamma’s apron and brushing through Snufkin’s hair. A single pink petal landed on her lap. “How are my flowers faring at home?” she muttered sending the petal off, and it flew with the wind eastwards. Somewhere there, in the clouded horizon, the shores of Moominvalley must be hidden. "One more thing," she said, tucking the edges around him. "I’m so sorry to press you, but… Could you spend this winter in Moominvalley? Just this once. Even if you’re walking with a cane by the first snow, the mountain passes would be too much. We’d worry." Snufkin blinked. He had thought just as much. Winter treks were treacherous even for the able-bodied. Oddly, the idea of staying didn’t chafe as much as he’d expected. The valley in winter… Frost etching lace on the windows, the quiet hush of snow-muffled forest. He had visited Moominvalley in winter on a brief occasion, but watching it live and change through the season must be different. Something new. Before he could reply, the others arrived. Little My scuttled down from the rock wall like a firecracker, followed by Moomintroll shepherding a nervous Snork and an absent-minded Hodgkins. Snork was still wearing his snow leopard disguise—or what remained of it under fresh grease stains. Moomintroll took his already usual place by Snufkin’s wheelchair, brushing a paw over his hand. And Moominpappa brought up the rear, breathless with enthusiasm. "Apologies, my dear! Gunnar and I were discussing literature. He’s got the makings of a writer, you know! His sketches are marvellous too. No wonder you have such an artistic flair, darling, it runs in your family!" Moominmamma gently redirected him. "And what do you plan to do next, darling?" "Why, return to the Chancellor’s Island and stage a revolution, of course!" Moominpappa declared, puffing his chest. "Dictatorship cannot stand!" Hodgkins chuckled, wiping hands off greasy pants. "Actually, the locals seem quite content with their government. Democratically elected, and all that. Even I found it acceptable—except for renaming the Ocean Orchestra." "What’s needed isn’t revolution," Moominmamma said smoothly. "It’s blackmail, scandal, and a great deal of paperwork and patience. It’s better left to the professionals. Besides, dear pappa, you are compromised since you’ve been spotted both in disguise and in your natural form." She turned to the group. "But what of Moominvalley? Of the house? Don’t you want to return?" Hodgkins scratched his head. "I’ll stay. They have proper workshops here, and they don’t mind me tinkering with toys for kids between projects. And no one minds the wrong spelling of the plane’s name. As for Muddler and Fuzzy, they are content. And I won’t worry for my nephew if he stays near." Snork fidgeted. "I’d like to go back, but… first I’d like to see the Ocean Orchestra project finished. We’re right in the middle of thrust switch sealing implementation, and then there’s a thrust reverser idea, very promising one, I’ve got a couple of thoughts on translating cowls… Ouch! Perhaps a little longer?" He could’ve clearly rambled on for ages, but Little My cut him short by applying her teeth to his tail. Surprisingly, she was all for leaving. "Piracy’s fun, but taking orders sucks. I’d rather boss you lot around." Moomintroll and Moominpappa agreed readily until they learned Moominmamma intended to stay. "What? No!" Moomintroll’s ears shot upright, his tail puffed. "You can’t—we can’t just—" Moominpappa spluttered. "My dear, surely you’re not serious? The children need you! I need you!" Moominmamma’s expression softened, but her voice was firm. "And my brothers need me. Besides, this isn’t a farewell till the end of time. I will be visiting you, maybe twice a year, on vacations. But my duty lies here now." Moominpappa's voice boomed across the cliffside, his tail bristling with indignation. "How can you expect me to sit at home dusting shelves while you're off having all the exciting, dangerous adventures?" Moomintroll stepped forward, his tail twitching nervously. "Mamma, I want to stay and fight by your side, too. I've only just started getting along with my cousins—" "Moomintroll." The name slipped from Snufkin's lips before he could stop it. He hated contradicting his friend, but Moominmamma's wisdom showed clearer than ever now. "Your mother spent her whole life making sure you wouldn't turn out like her family. Do you really want to throw that away?" His voice dropped. "Do you want to become like your cousins, judging strangers by how hard they can punch, taking what you want without asking?" He gestured to his bandaged shin. "Look where 'adventure' got me. And I never thought I was doing wrong either." Moominmamma placed a gentle paw on her husband's arm. "Darling, there's nothing glamorous about this. And don't speak ill of dusting. Our home is my heart. Knowing it's safe, knowing you're all there keeping the stove lit and the porch painted... That's what will let me focus here." She hesitated. "And if the Chancellor's agents come looking for revenge, the valley will need protecting." Moominpappa deflated, his ears drooping. "Well... quite right, my dear. Of course. I built that house with my own paws, I'll see it stands firm. You can count on me!" His chest puffed out, though the bravado rang hollow. Snufkin watched his toes. The hurt in Moomintroll's eyes was too raw. But he couldn't miss the tremor in his friend's voice. "But Mamma... What about Snufkin? Doc said he must stay to heal properly. I can't just leave him!" "Moomintroll."The name came out sharper than intended. “I am going back to the valley.” Snufkin swallowed, his throat inexplicably tight. He'd meant to speak plainly to do right by both Moominmamma and his dearest friend. So why did the words of absolute truth stick like burrs? Even in the Lonely Mountains, just the two of them, he'd barely managed to admit he'd miss his friend. What was wrong with him? Little My peeked out from behind Moominmamma's apron, her expression screaming, Just spit it out, you ridiculous creature! Snufkin took a sharp breath and glanced up. "I want you to come back with me." Little My’s voice was snarky as usual. "See? Was that so hard?" "You really mean it?" Moomintroll practically glowed—even as a cloud dimmed the sun, his smile seemed to brighten the cliffside. The weight in Snufkin's chest lightened instantly, though it returned when Moomin's ears drooped, his gaze flickering to his mother. "Mamma, you’ll be alright? You’ll visit?" "I promise," she said, rounding the wheelchair to pull him into a hug. Over his shoulder, her eyes met Snufkin’s with a flutter of lashes, silent thanks. "Then we’ll leave at once!" Moominpappa declared, standing proud. "Now that the Adventure is ours again!" "Oh, darling," Moominmamma sighed, tempering his enthusiasm. "The sea voyage takes days. I doubt Snufkin is ready for that." She turned to Hodgkins. "How fares the Ocean Orchestra? Operational, or…?" Hodgkins scratched his head, sheepish. "Snork and I were just automating the horizontal-to-vertical thrust switch, but if emergency or underwater manoeuvring isn’t essential, we could reinstall the previous hull version in a day or two." "They only need air travel, a beeline forth and back, half a day, so it’ll do," Moominmamma assured him. "And meanwhile I’ll prepare household instructions." She eyed Moominpappa. "You’re big boys. You’ll manage." "Ha. Ha. Ha," Little My intoned with a funeral flair before stomping off indoors, kicking dust for emphasis. Snufkin vaguely recalled the amphibious plane’s metal belly, the reek of oil, the gut-lurching moment the sense of up-and-down fell away— "I’ll survive a few days on the boat." "Autumn storms are coming," Moominmamma said gently. "Best not risk a chill or jolt setting your recovery back weeks, hmm?" Moomintroll, now equally concerned, seized Snufkin’s paw. "The view from above is wonderful, too! No chasing this time. And we’ll go boating at home, I promise!" He blinked. "Oh—Mamma, what about the Adventure?" "If we dismantle the mast, it’ll fit in the Ocean Orchestra’s cargo hold." Snufkin couldn’t speak as gratitude and guilt knotted his throat. Instead, he covered Moomintroll’s paw with his own. From the doorway, Little My’s voice carried: "Ugh. At this rate, it’ll take them ages." Snufkin chose to ignore her.