Chapter Text
The very first thing Moomintroll does when he awakens from hibernation is listen.
Actually, the first thing he does is run downstairs to enjoy the breakfast his mother cooked up. Then he listens.
He listens for the smallest sign—even the tiniest sound—of a mouth organ being played in the distance. The songbirds living in the valley would be his first clue that Snufkin was nearby; Moomintroll had grown accustomed to listening to them whistling a new tune. One that, undoubtedly, Snufkin had taught them.
He had also grown accustomed to keeping his ears open not just at the beginning, but well into Spring, too. His best friend never kept close track of the days, choosing instead to follow his heart when it was time to move from place to place. It could be upwards of several days to even a couple of weeks (on at least one or two occasions, but Moomin wasn’t counting). But the Spring Tune was a signal, and Moomin would be loath to miss it. He sat on the veranda impatiently and listened.
It was here, a week later, where Moomin found himself still waiting for Snufkin to arrive. He hardly noticed the days passing, but still felt uneasy that the wonderful Springtime was being missed by Snufkin’s absence.
“Move it, Moomintroll! You’re taking up space!” Little My’s voice startled Moomin from his trance, much to his irritation.
“Come off it, Little My! Haven’t you got some poor squirrel to bother inste—oh,” he began, but trailed off when he saw that, indeed, Little My had three squirrels behind her. Awaiting some command, apparently.
“I need the veranda for my wood collection. Move your rump so I can measure it out.” She stamped her foot. “Go wait for Snufkin elsewhere!”
“I’ll wait for him wherever I’d like, thank you very much! What do you even need that much wood for, anyways?”
“For my bonfire, of course.”
Moomin’s irritation melted into confusion. “But the bonfire is held in Midsummer.”
“I’ve decided to have a Midspring Bonfire. If you’re nice, I might invite you along, too.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Who’s going to want to attend a bonfire in Spring? It’s always hosted in the middle of Summer!”
“It’s going to be the middle of Summer by the time Snufkin gets here,” she retorted, and Moomin tried to ignore the sting of her words. Before he could reply, Little My turned to her squirrels and commanded them to bring her five pieces of wood each so she could inspect their quality. They scampered off, and Moomin wondered how she managed to train them to do her bidding in such a short time. He then wondered what other terrible acts she might get them to do with the right amount of persuasion. Thoughts of a vicious squirrel-army dissipated when Little My addressed him again. “Get lost already! Or I’ll bite your tail into three pieces!”
“You’re a horrible creature, I hope you know that!” Moomin yelled back, but conceded his space and left the veranda to go take a walk. He might as well enjoy the sunshine, and it wasn’t as though there was anything better to do. The Snork was stuffed up with allergies, so Snorkmaiden was home caring for him. Sniff had the idea to try melting sea glass into stained glass windows to sell. The last Moomin had heard, though, the business wasn’t doing so great. Pappa was busy writing, and Mamma was mending a curtain that had torn right before hibernation time. Now, with Little My preparing her silly bonfire, Moomin was left alone. He felt more bored and lonely than he had this entire past week since waking up.
He hadn’t walked far, but Moomin found himself at Snufkin’s empty campsite. He sat down on one of the logs and slumped down, resting his chin in his paws.
“Snufkin, where are you?”
Moomin’s eyes snapped open after what felt like a few seconds. The sun was a little higher in the sky, so he had fallen into a light doze, he figured. Moomin pondered what woke him up when he heard, clear as day, the sound of boots approaching from somewhere close by. He turned quickly and gasped with delight.
“Snufkin!” Moomin leapt up from the log and ran to meet his friend halfway. Snufkin gave him a warm smile and quickened his pace until he held Moomin’s paws in his own.
“Moomintroll, it’s good to see you!”
“I’ve missed you, Snufkin! You must tell me where you’ve been!” He hopped in place excitedly, and Snufkin chuckled.
“All in good time. I’d like to unpack first.”
“Oh! Of course!” He kept pace with Snufkin as they ambled back to the campsite. Snufkin didn’t speak as he undid the straps holding his tent and bedroll in place. But as he did, Moomin noticed something rather odd. The air was quiet; the birds made their usual chatter, no different than all the past week he’d been listening to them. Odder still—and Moomin couldn’t be 100% certain, as he had fallen asleep—he heard no new songs. He finally took a moment to truly look at Snufkin. His friend seemed tired and moved slowly. His pants had new mending around the knees that weren’t present last Fall. And the mouth organ was nowhere in sight.
“Um, Snufkin,” Moomin began to speak, concern beginning to grow. “I was wondering if you were feeling alright. You seem, ah….” He considered that it might be rude to finish the thought. Snufkin had only just arrived, after all, but he was usually better rested for his first day back in Moominvalley. Snufkin stopped his motions to watch Moomin, waiting patiently for the end of his thought. “That is, you seem… unwell?” he finished, uncertain. His friend never did care for much of a fuss. But, to Moomin’s surprise, Snufkin sat back on his haunches and sighed.
“I couldn’t possibly hide anything from you if I tried, could I?” he quirked a smile at Moomin, and Moomin returned a grin of his own. “I dove into a river recently and have been out of sorts since,” he began with some nonchalance, nearly knocking Moomin off of the log he was sitting on.
“You what?! Snufkin, what for?”
“It was all a mess,” he ignored Moomin’s outburst and set to work hammering the tent stakes into the dirt. “I took an unfortunate tumble and dropped my mouth organ onto the bridge I had been crossing. It slipped off the edge, and I couldn’t bear to move on without it.” The harmonica was one of Snufkin’s most valuable possessions, not replaceable by any means that Moomin could think of. But the alternative frightened him more than anything at that moment.
“You jumped into the river after it? But… but you—“ Moomin stuttered, horrified that the mumrik would even try. But try he had, evidently. Snufkin stopped his work and stood up, reaching into his pocket. He pulled the mouth organ out, cradling it with care in both paws. His eyes were sad as he gazed at it, but Moomin couldn’t see what for. It looked perfectly fine. Clean, even. “Oh, thank goodness you were able to get it back! I was worried it was lost forever. And that maybe you had jumped into that dangerous river for no reason.” Moomin tapered off with a relieved chuckle, but his relief ebbed away when Snufkin still hadn’t turned his forlorn gaze away from the harmonica. “Snuf..?” he tried again, and this time his friend did reply.
“It may as well have been for naught.”
With that, he brought the mouth organ to his mouth and blew into it as normal. But the notes were all wrong. Some were out of tune—perhaps a simple fix—but others were like high-pitched whistles, breathy and soundless. Noises that paled in comparison to the songs it would produce before. The familiar image of his friend playing his harmonica paired with the unfamiliar, awful sounds made what felt like a pit open up in Moomin’s stomach. After attempting to play for a few notes longer, Snufkin finally dropped the mouth organ away. His sorrow seemed to have only grown deeper, and Moomin found that he couldn’t speak for a moment or two.
“What…” Moomin swallowed. “What happened?” Snufkin without music was unthinkable, unimaginable. And yet here they were, with none to be heard.
“I tried to catch it as it fell, but it hit the bridge harder than I thought.” Snufkin held the harmonica above his head and narrowed his eyes, as if trying to peer into it. “There’s a crack in it. It may have broken the wood on the inside, too, then absorbed water from the river. I was unable to retrieve it right away, though I wonder if it would have mattered at all.”
It made sense, to some extent. Snufkin scarcely went anywhere without it, and sometimes that included falling or wading into bodies of water. Moomin was no expert, but he assumed the wood inside might be somehow protected from water damage. If not, the moisture from his mouth surely would have done a number on it a long time ago. “I took some extra time to mend my clothes from the fall… and felt quite weak to move after. If not for all of this, I might’ve returned to Moominvalley much sooner.” Snufkin’s dropped his hand holding the harmonica to his side, his story done with little fanfare.
“What will you do?” Moomin finally asked after he had taken some time to consider this. Snufkin looked as though he would pocket the harmonica again, but he hesitated and held it limply in his paw instead.
“I… I am not sure. No one I had spoken to on the remainder of my travels knew anything about how to fix it. I thought about just leaving it,” Moomin gasped, but Snufkin shook his head. “But I couldn’t, somehow.” He glanced down at it again, and Moomin’s heart hurt for him. “I am told it was a gift from my Great Aunt, but even I am not sure. I thought maybe my father or mother might know what to do, but I have my doubts.”
If they could even track the Joxter down, for that matter. Ship engine repairs were one thing, but the small instrument was far more delicate. And Moomin could hardly picture the Mymble even playing an instrument, let alone fixing one. The more he thought about it, the more hopeless the situation seemed to become.
Moominpappa might have a clue, though he seemed to excel with large-scale projects like furniture and other woodcrafts, Moominhouse included. Moominmamma may be able to help, but he had never seen her craft with wood before.
His gut turned with dread at the idea of Snufkin tossing the harmonica away, like it never mattered. His friend was clearly torn over it, but getting a replacement surely wouldn’t be a terrible idea. However, the pit in his stomach seemed to grow deeper at the thought of Snufkin playing with a different mouth organ, perhaps one with different sounds. A replacement would cure the problem, but not the heartache.
“Snufkin, please let me hold onto it,” Moomin said suddenly. At the very least, he could try to repair it in secret. If it didn’t work out, Snufkin would never need to know. And if it did work out, wouldn’t that be grand?
Snufkin did not seem surprised. “You want to try to fix it,” he pointed out plainly. Moomin supposed there was no harm in attempting to, but he still felt himself flush at having been found out so quickly. Perhaps he, too, couldn’t hide anything from Snufkin if he tried.
“We won’t know if it can’t be saved unless I at least try. Will you let me?”
Snufkin said nothing for a moment, watching him with a weary look. Moomin thought maybe he had overstepped a boundary with his ambition. He opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize when Snufkin dropped his gaze and sighed.
“You’re welcome to try.” He gently placed the mouth organ in Moomin’s paw, then continued, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Snufkin’s paw stayed in Moomin’s for a few seconds longer before he finally pulled away. A small part of Moomin wanted to reach out and take it again, to assure him that everything would be okay. To feel that solid warmth he had missed oh so much. He wondered if he had been listening to his father’s stories too often lately, as he found he was waxing some vague poetic in his mind. For in that moment, Moomin believed he was holding a tangible piece of Snufkin’s soul.
The tiny harmonica weighed impossibly heavy in his paws.
Snufkin might’ve laughed if he heard him say as much, but Moomin felt it was no laughing matter. Snufkin gave him a small smile.
Comforting. Kind.
“Please don’t be sad if it cannot be fixed. It’s alright.”
Defeated.
And in that instance, Moomin knew for certain that Snufkin had already lost faith in the endeavor. Somehow, that made the ache in his chest hurt more. Yet it also made him feel that much more determined to fix it. His dearest love was held aloft in his paws, after all.