Of Kin And Kindness

       Moomintroll sat on the dry, solid planks of the pier and loved everything: this little island, its inhabitants, even the splintery old jetty they had built. He turned to share a joyful smile with Snufkin—and froze. His friend's eyes were glowing a murky, yellowed amber. A low, threatening snarl emanated from his throat, barely audible over the lap of the waves, and he seemed bristled like an angry cat. Moomintroll's heart clenched. He spun around, peering into the deepening dusk, but at first glance he could see nothing frightening. Nothing at all. Except— There, closer to the shore, nailed to a post, a small sign was barely visible. The lettering was illegible in the dim light. But it didn't need to be legible. Must be some silly prohibition, since Snufkin was peeved so. Moomintroll remembered the fate of all the park signs in Moominvalley. Oh no. What if Snufkin knocked the wretched sign down right now, and the owners got angry, and beat them, or threw them out, or handed them over to the police?! Moomintroll lunged, grabbing his friend's hand. Stroking his shoulder, he cooed softly, soothingly: it's only a sign, let it stand, the important thing is there's no locked gate, and sure they could explain to the owners that they were shipwrecked, that any trespass was an accident, that— Snufkin's gaze darted a fraction at something further inland. A moment later, Moomintroll heard it too: a door slammed somewhere beyond the trees, footsteps pounded, and an irritated voice rang out: "Hey! Who's there? Leave my island at once! This is private property!" A light flickered, and then a dishevelled grey-haired hemulen in a nightgown came striding onto the pier, carrying a lantern and some long, stick-like thing. A rifle? Moomintroll's stomach lurched. The hemulen stopped right over them, blinking. Before Snufkin could say anything impolite, Moomintroll stepped forward with his most pitiful, harmless smile. "Good evening! Please forgive us, but we can't leave. We've been shipwrecked, we barely made it to your island, and our raft won't survive another stretch of open sea!" He waved a paw at his own carpentry masterpiece. "You're a kind hemulen, surely you wouldn't let us drown in the middle of the night? Please!" The hemulen squinted, aiming his lantern towards the raft. He was silent for a long, tense moment. The long object, by the way, turned out to be a mop. Moomintroll barely suppressed a giggle but failed to smother a full-scale sneeze. "Hmm..." At least the hemulen had stopped shouting. But he didn't look eager to let them pass, either. "Well, I don't know. What you say may be true, but it would still be a breach of the rules..." "Actually," Snufkin cut in, his voice tense, betraying his struggle to sound friendly, "the sign says unauthorised landing is prohibited. So if you give us permission to set foot on your island, there's no violation." Moomintroll's heart leaped. What a brilliant, simple solution! He would tell Snufkin so later to praise him for his quick thinking. But for now, the hemulen was still hesitating. "Permission?" he fretted, tugging at the collar of his nightgown. "I'm not sure. Inviting complete strangers into one's home... I am not sure I am comfortable with that." "So let's introduce ourselves!" Moomintroll immediately saw another simple, brilliant solution. "I'm Moomintroll from Moominvalley, and this is my friend—" But Snufkin jabbed a sharp fist into his back, and the Hemulen perked up, his eyes going wide. "Come again?" The hemulen loomed over the travellers, lantern held high. "Moomintroll? You do look the part. Are you by any chance the young fellow who was detained during my shift for... let me think... attempted trespass on a restricted facility and obstruction of justice?" Moomintroll's heart plummeted straight through the planks of the pier. Of all the islands on all the southern seas it had to be that hemulen policeman. The one Mamma had bribed to let him and Pappa go. The one who had wanted to buy his own island down south. On the one hand, the hemulen shouldn't know about the prison break, and he ought to be grateful to the Moomin family for making his dream come true. But hemulens are awfully fond of rules, aren't they? "Yes, that's right!" The hemulen outright beamed. "And there was your father as well, for perjury. And then your mother arrived and, ahem..." He coughed delicately, his composure souring a little bit. "Well! We're practically old friends, aren't we? Then of course, welcome! Come along, come along, you can warm up, dry yourselves by the fire! I'll light the stove at once, and I believe I still have some waffles left for tea..." He scurried up the path, his nightshirt flapping behind him. Moomintroll, giddy with relief, turned to Snufkin: see? Everything was working out perfectly! His friend was still frowning, but at least he followed the path without objections and didn’t dart to the trees’ shadow. After three days on the ice and the open sea, the hemulen's house—Moomintroll tried in vain to remember his name—felt wonderfully cosy. A proper fireplace radiated blessed warmth, enormous ceramic mugs of tea heated his paws, and the tea itself sat comfortably in his belly. Now he could finally look around while the hemulen set the table. White plastered walls, crude wooden furniture, unpretentious crockery, a branch of coral on the mantelpiece, a world map on the wall, a glass float on the windowsill glinting mysteriously in the kerosene light. It was as if the owner had tried to create a homely atmosphere with a dash of adventure, but didn't quite know how. Moomintroll cast a furtive glance at Snufkin: how was the mumrik coping with the closed space and the presence of an ex-policeman? Well, his friend seemed just wary, not seething or scared. "Don't say anything about… anything!" Snufkin whispered urgently, the moment the hemulen stepped out of the room. Moomintroll waved a dismissive paw. He understood perfectly well that they shouldn't reveal the whole truth to a former policeman, however good-natured he might be. But they didn't have time to agree on anything further, because the hemulen was already back, carrying flatbreads that, in the local cuisine, apparently passed for waffles. "So how did things end up with you?" the hemulen asked from the threshold, a bit terse for Moomintroll’s liking, but he was mentally prepared by now and didn't flinch. "You sailed away that same evening, I suppose?" "Certainly not! We're not criminals, we didn't break any rules!" Snufkin kicked him under the table, but Moomintroll didn't flinch either. He stared straight into his friend's eyes, trying to convey telepathically: I've got this under control. Trust me. He felt a surge of storytelling inspiration. Snufkin stared back, his gaze equally intense, as if trying to send a message of his own. No, telepathy was clearly a myth. "Pappa never gave false testimony! He was absolutely right about there being two mumriks, and I simply wouldn't let your colleagues make a lapse of justice. Pappa and I were planning to file an appeal... or was it a petition? I don't remember which, but the very next day, unknown persons in a flying ship stormed the prison and freed the wrongly convicted mumrik. Explosions, crashes, gunfire! My father later collected enough material from rumours and newspaper accounts to write an entire new book! Though he writes rather slowly, so it won't be published for a couple of years at least." He took a sip of tea to moisten his throat and do justice to the flatbreads. The hemulen gazed at him, mouth slightly agape, utterly captivated. Snufkin, by contrast, looked away and grew even more glum. What was wrong with him? It was a perfectly good story: safe, yet essentially true. "Well, well," the hemulen drawled, pouring himself some tea as well. "I retired at just the right time. I might have ended up in the middle of the combat and... no, I much prefer hearing such news by a warm fireplace than taking part in it." At that, Snufkin hurried to ask the host where they might hang their tent and blankets to dry. The hemulen led him outside, and when they returned, they were carrying unfamiliar citrus fruits. Snufkin proceeded to demonstrate how to make an infusion from the wild orange peels as a remedy against colds. A revoltingly sour-bitter infusion, as Moomintroll soon confirmed for himself, because the medicine was intended for him. Well, he supposed he had been sneezing rather a lot. The remedy proved effective. The next morning, Moomintroll woke up late, feeling bright and cheerful. Snufkin was already helping the hemulen with his chores, and the two of them were amiably discussing the finer points of catching sea fish and caulking a boat. Snufkin suggested hauling their homemade raft up onto the pier and dismantling it, keeping the useful coil of rope for themselves and donating the planks to Mr Larsen. Moomintroll sighed with relief: no need to ask the hemulen his name. The hemulen was quite pleased with the arrangement and even supplied the travellers with a bundle of smoked fish. Just like Pappa once at the lighthouse, he seemed overenthusiastic about fishing and now had no idea what to do with all that smoked, salted, dried, pickled wealth. Outside the window, the sun kept glimpsing between the clouds, and the sea would instantly turn a summery blue. It struck Moomintroll with a wonderful discovery: The south! They were in the south! On a real adventure with Snufkin! And everything would be all right: Mr Larsen would take them to the mainland, and from there the mumrik would find their way home. *** After saying goodbye to their hospitable host at the harbour, the travellers made their way into the town. Or rather, to a marketplace. Mr Larsen had been kind enough to give them the directions, and Snufkin was smart enough to understand that unintelligible string of right turns, left alleys, third arches... Moomintroll would’ve definitely mix up everything after two minutes, but now he could relax, trail behind his friend, and gawk around at all what was different from Moominvalley. Which was everything, as a matter of fact. Goodness, there was no snow, just as on the hemulen's islet! Some of the trees in the distant hills were still green. And here and there, roses were blooming in pots! Back at home, there would be a thick, thick blanket of snow over Mamma’s roses now; it would be another six months before any flowers at all… At first it was chilly in the shadows of the buildings and the draught coming off the sea, but only until the streets began to climb away from the harbour. Moomintroll was carrying Snufkin's backpack with the tent, and under such a load he quickly warmed up, unwinding his scarf and stuffing his cap into the baggage. The town itself was like nothing Moomintroll had ever seen—not like Moominvalley, not even like the town on the Chancellor's Island. Tall buildings here, three to five storeys high, all made of stone, in many different shapes but all topped with the same red tiles, and crammed so tight together that not a single tree could fit between them. How dull it must be to live in a house from whose window you could see nothing but a patch of your neighbour's wall. Still, he supposed you could pass the salt to that neighbour without ever stepping outside. Sure, Snufkin should find such a crowded, barren place uncomfortable. He definitely was finding the streets uncomfortable, as he tripped a couple of times over the cobbles. But he kept balance by himself, with a wave of arm and a stick (made of a dry branch from Mr Larsen’s garden to replace the cane lost sometime during the sea mishap), and he’d step away before Moomintroll could reach out to him. That was strange, but Moomintroll was too overwhelmed with the new impressions to dwell on that. Like, the signs everywhere were incomprehensible, even though the creatures in the harbour and on the streets spoke the same language as back in Moominvalley. Snufkin explained that it was simply a different alphabet. It was astonishing, really, how much he knew. Different languages, different alphabets, different customs… And the market! Well, yes—in form, it resembled a little the festive fair in the neighbouring valley, the one Moomintroll had visited with Snorkmaiden in early autumn, before… all the story. A wide street lined with tables under awnings, where various creatures sold various wares, mostly edible. Only here, there was no festive atmosphere. No music played. The stalls had no decorations. The creatures around them frowned and snapped at one another, their clothes were drab, and instead of coffee, punch and caramel, the air smelled of fish. Fish was the main commodity, along with other, utterly indescribable sea creatures. But just as Moomintroll was about to ask a stallholder what on earth this or that particular wonder-beast might be, Snufkin would tug his elbow and almost drag him onwards by force. Then he steered them into a side alley where several tables stood empty, sat Moomintroll down on a bench behind a stall, and stared him in the eyes. He looked generally displeased. Why though? They had both survived, they had made it to dry land, the tent was with them, the road home lay open. Snufkin must know these parts and how to get back to Moominvalley! " Moomin," Snufkin said, lowering his voice even further. "Listen to me, please. I'm serious." The playful diminutive, delivered in such a stern tone, sent a prickle of unease down Moomintroll's back. "First," his friend went on, "don't introduce yourself by name, the way you did with that hemulen yesterday. Don't say where we're from or where we're going. We're travellers. That's all. We go where our feet take us, admire the scenery..." "No, wait!" Moomintroll's head was spinning. None of this made sense. "If I hadn't introduced myself to Mr Larsen, he'd never have let us over the threshold! And why all this secrecy if we're not on the Chancellor's Island? That's far away, isn't it?" "Authorities"—Snufkin spat the word with visible disgust—"often share information about wanted criminals. I wouldn't be surprised if my face is on someone's desk in the local police station right now. So, no chatting. No drawing more attention than necessary. Yes, this isn't the Chancellor's Island. But it isn't Moominvalley either. Remember that." "But you said you don't run into danger on your travels!" Moomintroll exclaimed, remembering a conversation from what felt like a lifetime ago (though it could only have been three months). Snufkin winced and shook his head. "I meant I know where to expect danger and how to avoid it. Not that it doesn't exist. Besides, I try to go through wild places far from civilisation. But now we'll have to stay close to settlements." He ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "First, our supplies are low. And we have nothing to pay with. Normally I'd busk, but that's not safe right now. And spare matches or ropes wouldn't hurt." Here, at last, he smiled. "In case you take the phrase 'throw the rope' too literally again." Moomintroll giggled despite anything. Back in the Lonely Mountains, he really had been foolish, but everything had turned out all right. Though, he admitted to himself, only thanks to Mamma and Pappa. "Therefore," Snufkin continued, "please don't wander far from me. Do as I say, no questions. ‘kay?" Moomintroll nodded, practising the art of no-chatting. "If we part for some reason, stay where you are at the moment, don’t scatter. I’ll find you by all means. Like now, you stay here.” He patted the bench. “Keep an eye on our things all the time. There can be thieves. And trust no one." "But..." Moomintroll understood the words. What he didn't understand was the world they described. And his nerves were making him want to crack a joke, however inappropriate. "Did that hemulen bite you yesterday? So many rules... You hate rules! Why are you making them now? Why trust no one if there are plenty of good creatures in the world! Mr Larsen, for instance, he took us in, fed us, gave us a ride, and didn't pry into who you are or how we escaped. Back then, too, he practically let Pappa and me walk right out of the police station!" "Exactly," Snufkin cut him off. "That's not kindness. It's greed and fear. I remember your stories. First, that hemulen took a bribe. Now he's afraid that if he turns us in to the police, he'll be convicted of bribery and lose his dream-house. The world is complicated. In Moominvalley, you've only ever met good creatures. I've also seen the ones who only seem nice. I can tell them apart. You can't. And since you're in this mess because of me, I'll do everything to get you home safe and sound." Moomintroll was dumbfounded and silent, until Snufkin tapped him once on the paw, the first contact since yesterday. The distance hurt. "Sit here," his friend repeated, more gently this time. He stood and opened the backpack. "Keep your eyes open. I won't be long. I hope." And with the spirit burner in one hand and his walking stick in the other, he set off back into the busy part of the market. Moomintroll watched him approach a stall piled high with baskets, where a stout hemulen woman reigned. Snufkin spoke with her for a moment, then quickly retreated. He disappeared around a corner of the main street, and Moomintroll was left to wait, turning his friend's words over in his head, silently arguing with them... Right. He was supposed to watch their things, wasn't he? So he hugged the backpack since its owner wasn't there to hug him, and rested his head on the stiff top flap, which smelled of smoke and dry grass. The strange town no longer seemed quite so entertaining. Snufkin returned an eternity later (though the sunbeam creeping from the archway opposite the alley had barely moved at all). Instead of the spirit burner, he was carrying two gourds on ropes slung over his shoulder. "See? That’s not so hard," he smiled at Moomintroll. "Now we have two flasks. Smoked fish makes you terribly thirsty. Come on, let's go find some water. Usually, drinking fountains are in the main squares, which usually are”—he scanned the surroundings—"near the tallest towers. Pity the lantern got smashed on the turtle; we could have traded that too." Moomintroll's spirits lifted at once. He stretched, working the stiffness out of his shoulders and paws. Only now, rising from the bench, did he realise how tightly wound he had been the whole time. His mood restored, his inventiveness returned. "Could we trade some of the fish for something less salty?" "Maybe later," Snufkin said. The street was climbing uphill, and he was walking rather slowly. Not like back in Moominvalley, where he would easily leave his friends behind on their trips to the Lonely Mountains. His shin was still bothering him, Moomintroll realised, and his heart clenched. "Here by the sea, lots of people sell fish. The locals won't appreciate competition. But once we move inland..." "Are we going inland?" Moomintroll was happy to ask. He wanted to talk about the road home, to air out the unpleasant aftertaste of the earlier conversation. "Yes. Up to the plateau, across it, then through a couple of mountain valleys to the great plain, and along its edge to the south-eastern foothills of the Lonely Mountains." Somehow, hearing the journey described made its hardships seem less frightening. "Three or four days, then?" Moomintroll ventured, feeling rather like a seasoned traveller. Snufkin sighed. "A fortnight. And if the weather and provisions don't cooperate... perhaps a month." Moomintroll stood frozen. That long away from home? Well, yes, he had stayed on the lighthouse for a long time too, but Mamma and Pappa had been with him. His own solo adventure, though it had felt endless, had lasted only a few days. "Moomin. Snap out of it." Snufkin nudged his tail with his stick. "Time passes quickly on the road. And we'll be home long before... our family wakes up from hibernation." And he walked on. Moomintroll, though, had one more question, and he hurried to catch up and take Snufkin under arm to discuss the issue in private. But before Moomintroll could open his mouth, Snufkin shook his paw off and stepped away, and returned to the same chilling stern tone: "I didn’t want to dump it all at you at once, but… One more important thing: Don't touch me. No hugs, no holding hands. No nuzzles, for everything’s sake. At most, you can tug my sleeve." "Why?" The new rule left Moomintroll utterly bewildered. "Well..." Snufkin turned away. Wait, did he blush? "In many parts of the world, people look askance at that. And ‘askance’ means anything up to arrest or mobbing. I don't know the exact customs of this town and its surroundings, but it's better to be safe." His voice dropped. "Don't ask me why. It would take too long to explain." He lifted his gaze to Moomintroll, a very sad gaze. "I'm not happy about it either. But it’s temporary. Only in public, and only until we get home. I’ll tell you when it’s okay." "All right," Moomintroll forced the word out. His paw hovered in the air between them. He lowered it slowly, curling the fingers into his palm. The emptiness ached. Then he brightened. "Oh—I've been meaning to ask. If we can't use our real names, what do we say? You seem to be calling me just 'Moomin'. And what do I call you? Snuf?" That little lump of sounds on his tongue immediately called to mind every time he had ever used it, every quiet, tender moment shared between them: on the sofa in front of the heater, out in the sparkling snow, by the kitchen table surrounded by the smells of eggs and coffee... The urge to kiss Snufkin became almost unbearable. "Better not," Snufkin replied, clearly flustered. He must have been remembering the same things. "You know, in one foreign language, my name sounds like Nuuskamuikkunen. A bit of a mouthful, I know. But half of it will do—Nuuska. Will you manage that?" "Nuuska," Moomintroll whispered. He repeated the funny name to himself as they trudged up the streets, past shuttered windows and colourful awnings over little tables, beneath clotheslines strung with damp washing right across the alleys. Now he also kept an eye out for any papers tacked to the walls. What if there would be Wanted posters with pictures of some creature or other (he couldn't have read the text anyway). But all the notices were text-only. The one poster he did spot, featuring a fillyjonk in a fancy dress, Snufkin said was an advertisement for an upcoming concert. Another archway brought them to a larger square, this one with bare, spreading trees and a fountain—a round basin, in the centre of which a plaster mermaid was strangling a water jet out of a plaster fish. And then Snufkin hissed. Or rather, he sucked in air through his teeth, but he stopped dead and stared ahead. Moomintroll followed his gaze and gasped. Right there, in the fountain, yet another sign stood. This one was made of good, even plywood, with neat, unfamiliar lettering and threatening exclamation marks. Moomintroll wanted to grab Snufkin's hand again, to stroke his shoulder, to soothe him, but he remembered the ban on touching. And there were people in the square: a fillyjonk hurrying along with a brood of children, two stout coypus sitting at a table under an awning, an elderly rat washing a window in a grand house… "Sn—Nuuska, don't!" Moomintroll pleaded under his breath. "Please! You said yourself we need to be careful!" "It's all right," Snufkin replied, his voice strained. "I'm only going to have a closer look." He moved towards the fountain. Two or three paces from the stone rim of the basin, he stopped at last, then spun sharply on his heel and swayed slightly. Moomintroll caught his elbow before he even realised what he was doing, then let go at once. Snufkin didn't seem about to fall, though. Instead, he headed for the far side of the square, where beneath a spreading tree they discovered a modest stone pillar with a tap. A drinking fountain. Snufkin filled both gourds and carried them himself, slung on a cord over his shoulder. But somehow the weight felt heavier to Moomintroll. Snufkin walked in silence, his expression grim, his eyes fixed on the ground. Twice, though, he glanced back over his shoulder towards the square they had left behind, towards the fountain with its forbidding sign. "Sn— I mean, Nuuska!" Moomintroll burst out at last. "That stupid sign isn't worth worrying about. Or risking anything over." "It's not about the sign." "Then what is it about?" Snufkin glanced back again, but said nothing more. The silence grew, pressing down on Moomintroll. "Please!" He begged. "Let me know. I don’t want to be forever a naïve, sheltered child. I need to understand you. How can I help you if I don’t?" Finally, Snufkin turned to face him, pain in his eyes. He sighed. "Back there... didn't you notice? There were coins scattered in the fountain basin. In many places, there's a custom of throwing coins into fountains for luck." "And you can— Oh!" Moomintrol gasped with understanding. "The sign forbade taking those coins?" "Forbade entering the basin, and forbade taking them as well," Snufkin confirmed, without a trace of cheer. "But that doesn’t stand to reason! If I throw a coin out on purpose, doesn't it become nobody's in particular?" "The city authorities," Snufkin said with a grimace, "consider that the fountain belongs to them, and therefore everything in it belongs to them as well. They treat anyone who dares to put a hand in the water as a thief. Not entirely wrong; they might use those coins to pay for repairs. And I really don't need to get caught." He paused and cast a guilty glance at Moomintroll. His voice dropped to a breath. "But... but I still wanted to take it, and not just because of the blasted sign. I still want, actually. If I am careful enough—" "If we are careful enough," Moomintroll corrected him. "You said yourself we need more rope, matches, a map, provisions. So here's the thing. I know you're not a thief. If you took those stupid coins from the fountain, it would only be for me. Because of me. On your own, you'd make do with what you already have. But if you go off alone to do something you hate for me, that would be...” He searched for a suitable word, true but not blaming. “Unfair. We go together. I promise to obey you without question, just let me help! You're stumbling even at a normal pace. What if you have to run? And if I give you a piggyback, our chances of getting away are much better, aren't they? " Moomintroll held his breath. His stomach churned. What if Snufkin decided to protect him from every trouble as promised and told him to wait in hiding while... "And to be honest," he added, unable to stop himself, "it doesn't look as if those fountain coins are going towards repairs. Everything here is so shabby and run-down... No harm if we borrow a little, really." “Well, you may be right,” Snufkin heaved another heavy sigh. “That would be more efficient. I’m sorry for dragging you into criminal business…” “By the Booble’s bum!” Moomintroll was glad and encouraged again. “The idea with the ice yacht was mine, so I am guilty too. We’d better not waste time and breath on apologies, and do what should be done. But still they had to waste a bit more time. First, Snufkin lead them out of the town, where alleyways between the houses grew wider. Tiny gardens began to peek over tall stone walls, then the gardens expanded, and when a turn in the road revealed a clearly abandoned plot with a half-crumbled wall, Snufkin glanced quickly around, nodded to his companion, and clambered over the barrier. To wait until dark, they settled beneath an evergreen orange tree (goodness, oranges! On a branch! And just lying on the ground, going to waste!) in the thickest part of the tall, dry grass with its papery seed heads. No campfire, so no hot tea, but Moomintroll wasn't about to complain. The smoked fish had indeed made him desperately thirsty, and he drained his entire gourd plus half of the other. Snufkin insisted he was fine with the rest. Moomintroll had other ideas about how to pass the time in this deserted spot, and Snufkin didn't even object to warming embraces. But just as they reached the stage of nuzzles on a cheek, he pressed a palm against Moomintroll's nose and announced that they needed to devise a universal alarm signal. Yes, they had had certain signals since childhood. A particular whistle meant "top secret business," and disappearing without a word meant "Snufkin wants to be alone." He fell silent again, lost in thought. Moomintroll would have been happy to contribute to inventing a system of signs—it was so exciting, so adventurous!—but the fingers stroking his broad muzzle were terribly distracting. Then something soft slapped him on the back. He spun around in fright. No one there. Just the grass swaying, rustling its papery seed pods. A mouse? A rat? The police?! "That's the alarm signal," Snufkin explained. "If I tap you with my tail, you must immediately—" "Your tail?" Moomintroll needed a moment to recover from astonishment. He remembered that mumriks had an imaginary tail; he had even been tripped up by it once. But still... "You see? What a useful thing it is, and you didn't want to explore it..." Snufkin rolled his eyes heavenward. A second soft tap caught Moomintroll's own tail. "...then you must fall silent at once, freeze, and do as I say. If I say nothing, just do as I do. Understood?" For the rest of the daylight, he made Moomintroll practise his reaction to the signal, and practised giving it himself, admitting that it didn't always work on the first try. For an hour or two, they weren't fugitives. They were just two friends in the grass, inventing a secret language, and the world was all nice again. When the sun sank down to the rooftops and treetops, Snufkin hid the backpack beneath a pile of dry grass. "By the time we get there, it will be properly dark. In winter, townsfolk rarely wander around the taverns and streets until midnight. It's too cold for them." Moomintroll wasn't exactly warm himself, so he was anticipating the running and the action. Yet they walked back into the centre of the town no faster than Snufkin's natural pace, though still quicker than when they had been climbing uphill. How had the mumrik memorised the winding, identical streets in a single go was beyond Moomintroll's comprehension. In the twilight square, he first refilled their gourds at the drinking fountain while Snufkin studied the distant streetlamps and the dark and lit windows of the surrounding houses. Then they waited, letting late walkers pass by. Only an eternity after the last one did Snufkin take Moomintroll's paw and pull him towards their goal. Once there, he climbed straight into the fountain basin, boots and all. Rolling up his sleeves, he quickly began gathering the coins invisible to Moomintroll in the gloom, and stuffed them into his mitten. Moomintroll's heart hammered wildly. His imagination conjured police whistles, the crack of gunfire, prison bars, the disapproving faces of hemulens. Then a random though nearly made him giggle: if only Snorkmaiden saw him now! She had said once he’d never be a good criminal, and here he was, keeping a lookout during a real theft… Okay, maybe that was not something to be proud of. At last Snufkin hoisted himself onto the rim of the basin, and Moomintroll immediately turned his back to him. Under his friend's weight, he trotted cautiously away. Snufkin was lighter than he looked, and even lighter to carry on one's back than in one's arms. No heavier than the backpack, for sure. Except that the backpack didn't breathe against Moomin’s cheek. It didn't hold onto his neck with wet, cold hands, or whisper directions through the darkness. "Left here. Now right." Moomintroll would have run anywhere. But soon Snufkin asked him to slow down and let him walk, claiming that Moomin’s panting would wake everyone within a mile. Moomintroll pouted, but then a cool narrow hand closed on his paw, palm to palm, fingers intertwined, and pulled forth in the dark, and he followed without fear or regrets. At the abandoned plot, they retrieved their baggage, and Snufkin ordered them onward. They didn't stop until the lights of the town had vanished behind evergreen groves. They pitched the tent under the rising moon and even risked a small fire. Exhausted and warm from the run, Moomintroll fell asleep almost instantly, but not before pulling Snufkin close against him. And dear Snufkin didn’t push him away.