Of Kin And Kindness

       The great Midwinter bonfire for all the sleepless creatures of Moominvalley had been finished early this year, long before midnight, due to the blizzard that had raged its way even onto the sheltered forest clearing. Moomintroll had waved a farewell to Too-Ticky, fastened his skis, and set off after Snufkin. In the swirling snow-scurry, he might not have found his way home; the lantern on his neck only helped him avoid bumping into the trees. But a mumrik would never get lost. Probably. The walk stretched on and on. Snufkin kept stopping, peering into the gloom, or facing the wind, carefree and smiling, eyes shut, as if listening to a secret tune. In such moments, he was lovely, and the lantern’s light lay so soft on his face that Moomintroll cursed the stupid skis keeping him beyond the cuddling distance. All in all, Snufkin wasn’t hurrying at all. But neither did he seem worried, so it was only when Moomintroll got rather cold and tired that he started to fret. “We’re not lost, are we?” he ventured during yet another halt. “Eh? What?” Snufkin seemed to wake from a dream. His shoulders slumped at once. “Oh, you’re cold, right? Hold on…” And he veered off their course, plunging into a thicket of spruce. The spruces gave way to birches, then came a desperate dash across a blind, open whiteness, and finally the lantern light fell upon the familiar snow-drifted mound that was Moominhouse. Digging out the freshly buried door, they left the skis to thaw in the anteroom and tumbled into the dark, cool parlour. Moomintroll shook his whole body to get the snow out of the fur. Part of that splash landed on Snufkin, who responded with a bleak smile and started hanging out his hat, scarf and smock on the chairs to dry, staying in hisshort-sleeved undershirt that might once have been white. “Sorry, I drifted off,” he apologised, turning the heater to its highest setting. Moomintroll’s heart sank a bit. “I just wanted… to stay out in the open a little longer. When even the windows are buried under snow… it gets a bit hard, sometimes.” “Yes, of course. I understand.” Moomintroll smashed his head mentally. “It’s me who should say sorry, I must’ve… Or, if you want to have a walk you can… That is, if you’re not cold and won’t get lo— no, you always know the way—” A cool palm shut his mouth. Snufkin cradled his snout in hands and pecked him on the nose. “Don’t be sorry. I had my share of fresh air… Okay, I’ll make some raspberry tea, to keep the chill off.” But instead, they stood side by side by the heater for a while to let the warmth seep through before Snufkin walked to make the tea, limping ever so slightly. To the soft, busy sounds in the kitchen, Moomintroll tiptoed towards Pappa’s study. What a relief; he didn’t want Snufkin to go, and he had an idea how to sweeten the remains of the evening and distract his friend from that wistful longing for the open road. They’d had a mug of glögg each by the bonfire, but its merry warmth had long since evaporated. It needed a little supplement… Ah, there it was: the desk lamp that Pappa never switched on, because it isn’t a lamp at all, but a cunningly disguised bottle of brandy. Just a little drop, for the cheer of it. Then, perhaps, they might manage another small step forward. It had been getting better. Snufkin had been tensing less and less under Moomintroll’s paws, on Moomintroll’s chest, and his own fingers roamed more freely through the white fur (which grew thicker and a tad longer for winter, by the way!), stirring shivers far sweeter than any Snorkmaiden’s nuzzles ever had. But at first, there had only been the rough, crumpled green fabric of Snufkin’s smock beneath Moomin’s touch. Whenever Moomintroll tried to sneak a paw beneath it, Snufkin would go still and gently guide the straying limb away with an apologetic hum. Come to think of it, Moomintroll had only seen Snufkin undressed once, in the infirmary up in the Dire Straits. On hot summer days at the beach, Snufkin would declare his clothes were due a wash anyway and wade into the water fully dressed to join his friends. Of course, Moomintroll would never say it was a bit unfair. Snufkin saw—and had access to—all of him, even the most embarrassing part that sometimes stirred between his legs after a particularly long and tender cuddle. The first time it happened, Moomin had panicked, but Snufkin had just chuckled softly and explained it was perfectly normal, just a sign a guy liked his partner very much, and that was how babies were usually made, with a girl. Moomintroll had almost burst with questions then, about the novelty of it all, the babies, the girls, how Snufkin knew—what if, oh cursed thought, he’d already done it with… someone else? But Snufkin had simply shaken his head, slipped a hand down Moomintroll’s belly without another word, and after that, Moomin couldn’t think straight at all, not until the very peak of that mind-shattering pleasure. It was absolutely fantastic. And he’d been dying to let Snufkin feel the same. But the mumrik had been hesitant, and forcing the matter was the last thing Moomintroll wanted. He was perfectly willing to wait, and to keep his arms—and his heart—open. “I hope we won’t make too much of a habit of this over winter,” Snufkin mused, eyeing the two glasses with their measure of brandy. “Just this once,” Moomintroll promised with great solemnity, as they clinked glasses and settled together on the sofa in the soft orange glow of the heater. The brandy’s fire shot through his veins, his movements grew sloppy, but Moomintroll didn’t mind so long as he didn’t topple onto Snufkin or off the cushions. He turned his head to share the last few drops with Snufkin in a peculiar move, the closest he could manage to imitate a mymble’s kiss since moomins’ mouths were not built for joining lips. It didn’t make him giddy like proper moomin nuzzles (or a mumrik’s gentle fingers on his nose), but he loved the way it made Snufkin’s breath catch and eyes go hazy. They were different in every way, after all, which only made exploring their common ground more thrilling. Even if it didn’t always work on the first try. Moomintroll blamed the brandy for missing Snufkin’s lips, anyway. But the same brandy made it funny instead of awkward. After a good laugh, Snufkin fiddled with Moomintroll’s paw and said, “Hm, I wonder… what do you feel whentouching anything, with all that fur? Is it not like… well, like wearing a glove? Kinda muffled?” By the booble’s tail!Moomintroll dearly hoped this was the step forward he’d been waiting for, as the subject could lead somewhere wonderful! “Not at all,” he began to explain, rubbing Snufkin’s knuckles with his thumb for emphasis. “It’s not a glove. The fur grows on me. So every touch goes down every single hair, straight to my skin and deeper. I feel the world from all sides, all the time. The wind, the water, this sofa… you.” He paused, a new thought striking him. “Actually, it’s me who wonders if you feel much through all those clothes. You love to be with nature, and yet you keep it at a distance.” Oh no, did that sound like a reproach? He quickly drew Snufkin’s hand up to peck on it. “Or is it because of the scars? I understand you didn’t want me to worry. But now I do know, and I’ll worry anyway, so… perhaps if I see more of you now and then, I’ll grow used to the sight?” After all, he had actually grow used to thread-thin lines on Snufkin’s forearms, and even one rather nasty but short torn patch. (“A dog,” Snufkin had commented and refused to go into detail.) And the heater’s glow was too faint to make out any scars clearly. Come to think of it, even the bruises on his wrists from the handcuffs had faded completely. “And the scars, too,” Snufkin admitted, blushing even deeper, which made him impossibly sweet. “Perhaps you’re right.” Shrinking a little, he reached to tug his undershirt free from the trouser waistband, then took a deep breath, and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion. This time Moomintroll’s heart clenched: an uneven, darker patch on his right side, an almost-white mark over his shoulder, bringing to mind tigers or bears… A sudden timidity seized Moomintroll. He reached out to draw Snufkin closer, light and careful, as if handling a porcelain cup, even though he knew Snufkin would hate pity and was anything but fragile. He had crossed mountains and deserts, after all. And he seemed to guess what was troubling his friend. “It doesn’t hurt now,” he murmured, snuggling closer. Moomintroll laid his snout over Snufkin’s shoulder to hide any wet gleam in his eyes. It didn't help much. Stifling a gasp, he traced a gentle paw along another scar—a torn wide line stretching from the shoulder blade down below the waistband. “Oh.” He took a careful breath to steady his voice. “Snufkin. How did you live to your age?” But his friend just giggled. “Don’t worry. Most of those date back to my early childhood when I wasn’t as fast, strong, or travel-savvy as I am now. Now I go mostly unscathed. But the one you see… And if you mean the longest one, it was actually quite funny. Thank a rusty nail in a fence I was scuttling down from to get away from another angry garden keeper. I didn’t notice it under bramble leaves, caughtmyself on it, cried out, and the keeper aimed at the sound and shot me.” “What?!” Moomintroll yelped as if it was him shot, and shifted to have a better look.He couldn’t see any other mark similar to the bullet scar on Snufkin’s shin, though. “Shush,” Snufkin leaned in to ruffle his head. “It was just a salt round, not a proper bullet or buckshot. Leaves nasty itchy bruises, but it’s not lethal. Then the keeper saw me bleeding and tangled in the brambles, panicked that he’d loaded a proper cartridge by mistake and killed me, so he snatched me up and ran for the doctor. In the end, I got patched up and fed. I had, after all, trespassed in the garden to find something to eat. We parted on rather friendly terms. So I remember that one quite fondly.” Relieved a tiny bit, Moomintroll sighed, his body brushing against the hollow of Snufkin’s chest and belly, and gave a soft giggle at a stray thought that no fat reserves at all, mumriks were really not meant to hibernate. The brandy’s warm mirth returned, and Snufkin snickered too. “You’re tickling!” he explained, then added in a timid whisper, “You’re right. Feeling your lovely soft fur against bare skin is… very nice.” Moomintroll shuddered with affection and tried to wrap himself even more around Snufkin, to give all the nicety he had. “Such a pity,” he sighed into Snufkin’s shoulder, “that I can’t just take my own skin off to show you how much I trust you… how much I love you.” “I know, I know.” Snufkin’s nose burrowed into his snout, thin fingers combing gently through the fur, which fluffed out and tangled after drying. “There’s no need, really. I like your coat right where it is.” And he squeezed Moomintroll tight across the torso for a few breathtaking seconds. So that’s okay? Moomintroll squeezed him back, revelling in the closeness and the new sensation of smooth, tender skin, of palpable ribs and shoulderblades. There was so little of Snufkin left minus clothes that Moomintroll was again fighting an urge to smother him, to press him down onto the sofa, to shield him from the whole world… But no. Snufkin would feel trapped; he had said as much once. Better lean back and pull him— Too busy with his affections, Moomintroll lost track of his surroundings and tumbled off the sofa, pulling Snufkin down with him. Oh, what a silly clutz! But his flurry of apologies was cut short by a soft peck on his snout. Snufkin was laughing soundlessly, his eyes gleaming with a mischief so contagious that Moomintroll couldn't stifle his own giggle. And it helped a lot that he knew they were on the same page in terms of, er, experience. His horrors about, well, someone else hadbeen relieved: with much fluster, Snufkin had confessed his knowledge was purely observational. When he had been too small to carry a tent, he used to sleep in quiet nooks, on tree branches in orchards, in haystacks—the spots favoured by couples seeking solitude to attend to each other, and not once the little vagabond had had to watch and wait until they cleared the ground. Speaking of safe places. Snufkin suggested they get cosy right there on the floor, dragging the blankets and cushions closer to the heater’s glow. Still trembling with suppressed laughter, they fashioned a spacious, homely nest on the rug. Who needed a sofa anyway, now that the rest of Moominhouse was asleep and unlikely to tread on the guys lounging (or whatever) in the middle of the parlour? The clumsy fall seemed to have settled Snufkin’s nerves. They fell into a playful tussle over who was more ticklish, until finally they stopped, panting and gazing into each other’s wide, bright eyes. Snufkin pinned Moomintroll to the blanket, leaning over his substantial tummy, his legs bracketing Moomin’s sides. The heater cast orange reflections in his hazel eyes, and Moomintroll was utterly mesmerised. He couldn’t decide what he wanted more, to freeze this glorious moment forever, or to move on to something even greater. Tentatively, he tugged at the tie of Snufkin’s pants. Since silliness seemed to work, he murmured, “I still have to check for your tail, you know,” and waited for a signal to proceed or retreat. Snufkin froze for a split second. “‘Ka-ay,” he sighed with too much theatrical exasperation to be serious, then broke into a grin and shuffled back on his heels to remove the last bit of clothing. “No tail, I’m telling you.” Moomintroll couldn’t help but stare. No wonder his friend clung to the protection of fabric. With such delicate skin, and with everything that moomins kept tucked safely inside layers of fur and fat and muscle… all on display. Moomintroll sat up, eager to start probing their differences and similarities. “You have a very cute invisible tail,” he whispered, drawing Snufkin close to trace a path down his spine. Snufkin’s snort at the running joke gave way to a small, funny sound when Moomintroll’s fingers wandered over the long thighs, pale even in the incandescent light of the heater, and finally brushed against the small part between his legs. That sound, the slight wriggling of those thighs drove Moomintroll on the verge of melting. He’d melt into a complete mess if Snufkin mirrored the move, but today, Moomintroll had other plans. Gently guiding Snufkin’s hands around him, he whispered into a small ear, “It’s your turn today. Let me please… Okay?” Snufkin hummed and clung to him obediently, and Moomintroll drew on everything he’d learned from all their previous sweet little moments to kindle the haze of yearning in those hazel eyes, to make those thin fingers clench and unclench in his white fur, to catch Snufkin’s breath and tense his muscles… Moomintroll recognised every sign from the outside, all the things he himself had felt before. And to see Snufkin go through that same wonder was as thrilling as feeling it firsthand. Now, just a second more, one more pull— The very moment Snufkin shuddered against him Moomintroll cried out in shock: a fistful of needles seemed to pierce his back at the nape and under his shoulder blade. Exactly where Snufkin was gripping him. The pain subsided at once when Snufkin had recoiled, his gaze flickering between his friend and his own hands in horror. "Moomintroll, I'm sorry, I…" his voice trembled on the verge of tears. "I didn't know… Did it hurt terribly? I'm sorry, I thought claws only came out from fear, but why now…" Ah, claws. Moomintroll reached out to him, but Snufkin recoiled. "What have I done…" Now he was shaking and looked totally terrified, as if he'd flayed half his friend's skin off. But when Moomintroll tried to feel the spot where a faint sensation still lingered, he found nothing awful. It was only on the third attempt that he saw a tiny speck of blood, no bigger than a poppy seed, on his finger. "Oh, come on, Snuf! Snap out of it, nothing dreadful has happened. It's a silly little scratch, I'll have forgotten which side it was on by tomorrow." "But I won't forget," Snufkin exclaimed in despair, "that I hurt you. I only ever bring trouble…" Now that really wouldn't do! "That's not true at all!" Moomintroll assured him, reaching for a hug. But Snufkin twisted away, sprang to his feet, and in a moment was pulling on his trousers, then his smock over his bare skin, and even limping, he managed to dash out the front door while Moomintroll was still untangling himself from the blanket, while he was stumbling over chairs and the sofa to reach the door, stepping out into the night… Immediately the darkness threw a bucketful of stinging snow into his snout. "Snufkin! Come back!" he shouted into the black-and-white swirl of the blizzard, seeing nothing and no one. He went back for the lantern, but even in the kerosene light he could only discern flakes flying level and the snowdrifts at his feet. Any tracks were already swept out. He took a few blind steps into the storm, though it was probably pointless. In weather like this, he could get lost just ten paces from the house, and finding a mumrik was impossible. But Moomintroll couldn't just stand there, even if he didn't know what to do. "Snufkin!" He didn’t really hope for a reply, but… Did he just catch a glimpse of voice ahead? A familiar one. Moomintroll pricked up his ears and, in a lull between gusts of wind, he heard it again. The scolding shrieks of Little My. But the words were unintelligible. It seemed to be coming from straight ahead. Stumbling blindly, he tried to remember what was there, opposite the house in the summer garden. If from the main door, then… Ah, the shed! Moomintroll plunged headlong through the snowdrifts and nearly kneed the shed’s roof. Right, they had cleared the entrance that morning to get the saw and axe for the Midwinter bonfire; he had to find the hole. He tumbled into the hole, and Little My’s voice rang again, right next to him now, from behind the plank door: “—Stop it, or I’ll bite off your nose for good measure!” Moomintroll burst into the shed, and the lantern light fell upon Snufkin in the far corner, who was trying to shake off Little My who had gripped his forearm with both her hands and teeth. Moomintroll immediately remembered just how painfully the small mymble could bite and rushed to pry her loose. But with all boxes and poles and ropes cluttering the shed a proper rush was impossible. “My! What on earth are you doing?!” “Me?!” she opened her mouth to answer and was promptly flung into a corner. “Just look what he’s doing! He’s about to pull his own claws out!” In his other hand, Snufkin was holding pliers. Moomitroll’s heart lurched to his throat. Or was it his stomach? Sick with horror, he plunged to twist those pliers away, but tripped over some bucket and fell. The lantern didn’t break or start a fire; it just went off, and he realized there was another light. Little My had her own little lamp. “I don’t need them!” Snufkin’s voice was ragged. “I’ve lived all my years without any claws—I’ll carry on just fine. At least no one else gets hurt.” “It didn’t hurt me!” Moomintroll cried out struggling to his feet. “But it will hurt me to watch you maim yourself. And what if you need your claws someday, for protection? Or…” Oh, what came to mind next wasn’t very fair; it was practically blackmail, but for a good cause… “What if you damage yourself something and can’t do little things with your hands anymore, like tying laces, gutting fish… You wouldn’t be able to travel on your own!” Slowly, as if approaching a skittish bird, he closed the distance to Snufkin, wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the feeble resistance. “Come home. You’ll freeze, barefoot like that. We’ll think of something, something safe. Like oven mitts. Or you just don’t hold onto me at… crucial moments. Although I really like it when you do…” “Can you not discuss your follies in front of me?!” Little My reminded them of her presence. “Shoo, both of you! I’m trying to sleep in here, actually. I barely found a spot where that stupid squirrel doesn’t wake me every half-day, and now you two turn up…” And she burrowed herself into a lump of fleece Mamma used to cover flowerbeds during windchills. Moomintroll gripped Snufkin’s limp hand and pulled him towards home. Without the lantern, he’d get lost in the process, which at least forced Snufkin to come to senses enough to lead the way. Back in the house, Snufkin offered no protest as he was settled onto a nest of blankets by the heater, where he immediately curled back into a tight, small ball. “I’m sorry, Moomin,” he murmured, voice muffled. “I scared you, didn’t I? I don’t know what came over me. It must be the walls. I’m… not a domestic creature, really. I thought I could last until spring, but… I don’t know. The windows are buried… it’s like sitting in a tomb.” He shuddered. “I can’t control it. Claws, wandering… All instincts. Joxter was right, blood runs thicker than—” “No, no!” Moomintroll knelt beside him and gasped: Snufkin was clutching himself so hard that his unsheathed claws dug into the smock fabric (and surely deeper), and Moomintroll hurried to pry his friend’s fingers open and away. He didn’t dare to hug him as tight as he wished, not after the remark on tombs, and so just wrapped the mumrik in a loose embrace, rocking him gently. His mind raced, desperately seeking a solution. A kiss wouldn’t fix this. A long hike would help, but how? A trek on foot? Out of the question. On skis? But Snufkin would tire quickly even lightly laden. On a sledge? Moomintroll would tire quickly. What do beasts do in winter? The active ones like Mr. Brisk? Skating? But that’s not a means of travel… Wait. Skates. Sledges… That’s it! “I’ve got an idea,” Moomintroll said, giving Snufkin’s hand a gentle squeeze. “How about a three or four-day sail across the sea? We’ll take your tent. Out in the open, with no mountains on the horizon, we’ll see the sun at noon. It’s due to come out properly after Midwinter, you know.” Snufkin turned to look at him. Oh goodness, those wonderful brown eyes flickered with surprise, not wild panic. Ah, no, the surprise shifted back to worry. He pressed a palm to Moomintroll’s forehead. “I’m quite alright and in my right mind,” Moomintroll assured him, offering an encouraging smile. “We’ll just put a sail on a wooden platform fitted with skating blades. A few years back, when Jox—” he stumbled over the name, but Snufkin had asked him not to avoid mention of his father, hadn’t he? “When Joxter sent Pappa a distress signal, Pappa and I raced to rescue across the frozen sea on such iceboat. It was fast and easy.” Well, if he didn’t count falling through the ice, or the period of dead calm when he had to haul the raft and Pappa single-pawed, but those were minor details. “Once this blizzard settles, we’ll find the raft, fix it up, and go for a proper sail with the wind.” Snufkin watched him, still miserable, but he had at least uncurled a little. And when he finally gave a slow nod, Moomintroll nearly laughed aloud with relief. Oh, but was he tired from all those nerves… The panic rush ebbed, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He nudged Snufkin to lie down into the blanket nest. Most of all he wanted now to wrap around his mumrik and never let go (or at least till morning). But limiting his space to a span of an embrace wasn’t the best idea. So Moomintroll settled down, only affording himself to grip at the edge of Snufkin’s blanket. And— “Good night. Wake me up in the morning if I go hibernating by mistake,” he told the daily formula he had used since his parents had fallen into the winter-long slumber.” But today he added, “Promise me you will!”