Chapter Text
“Moomin, dear. Where are you?”
A fluffy, white troll sat perched on top of the old wooden fence that surrounded his house. His tail curled around the wooden slats of the fence, and his eyes were fixed steadily on the distance. Tufted white ears stood at attention, his expression alert and expectant.
Moominmama, rounding the corner, found him this way.
“Oh,” she said, rubbing her paws on her apron,
“There you are, little one. Moomin, you haven’t finished your pine needles. We’ll be going into hibernation soon now, dear.”
Moomin nodded, his fuzzy snout bobbing, but his reply was distracted and uninterested;
“I’ll finish them in a bit.”
Moominmama gazed out into the distance, trying to follow her son’s intense gaze, and chuckled.
“Whatever are you looking at, Moomin?”
Finally, the young troll broke his gaze and looked over to his mother. He smiled self-consciously.
“Oh. Well …”
His large, fluffy tail curled further around the fence post.
“There’s … somebody I’ve seen before. It was on this same day last year, the day we went into hibernation. They were walking along, playing this funny-looking musical instrument, and it was the most amazing thing I’d ever heard!”
“I see,” Moominmama said, her eyes crinkling in kindness at her son’s enthusiasm.
Moomin returned to gazing out across the landscape.
“I was just hoping to maybe see them again before I went to sleep. I have no idea who they are, but they looked fantastic.”
Moominmama chuckled.
“Very well, Moomin. But don’t stay very long, all right?”
Moomin nodded, his sparkling blue eyes scanning the frosty fields surrounding their house.
“Uh-huh.”
Moominmama placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“And be cautious,” she added softly,
“That person you saw could very well be a spring spirit.”
Moomin turned quickly to her, startled.
“A spring spirit?” he said, his voice full of excitement and awe.
“Gosh, do you really think so? A spring spirit. It would make sense. He was so very colorful and bright, so nimble, so . . . joyous.”
“Yes, maybe so. But Moomin, you musn’t forget. We’re not meant to interact with the spring spirits.”
Moomin’s tufted ears wilted and he looked sullen.
“I … I know.”
Moominmama patted his shoulder, comforting him.
“It’s simply what Mother Nature’s intended for us. Don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure Moominpapa can find a nice, new record for us to listen to when we wake up, and you’ll have lots of new music to enjoy.”
Moomin flitted his tail back and forth, frowning.
“Hnnnn,” he mumbled.
Moominmama turned to head back inside. She reminded him,
“Don’t stay long now, Moomin.”
“All right,” he answered reluctantly as she left.
Moomin heard the front door open and close, and then the world drifted back into a gentle quiet. There was a nippy breeze still in the air, but the ice on the ground had been slowly, steadily melting. Little bits of grass and plants were poking through all over the place, and the tree’s normally bare limbs were all budding with expectant leaves. Winter was weakening its hold on the land, wearing thin at all the edges. As Moomin drew in a breath, he could even feel the frigid air was starting to wane, to gradually warm. It filled his insides with a funny, twisty feeling.
All of these were signs that it was time for a winter spirit like him to return to hibernation until the next frost. He knew this. Being out here on the edge of winter made him nervous and anxious. Yet, he still felt powerfully compelled to remain here, watching, waiting. He was fascinated. Even as the ice was dying a slow death, melting into the embrace of the land, even as the sun grew brighter and stronger above him, heating up to what would soon be dangerous levels, he felt compelled to stay. It was a transformation of the land he never got the chance to watch, not entirely. Part of him wanted to see how it turned out.
And even more then that, all of him wanted to wait and see the mysterious traveler again. He’d only caught a glimpse of him last year, although he’d heard his music long before he’d seen him. The fellow had been walking down the path that led out of the woods and into the field, where Moomin was steadily staring just now. He regretted not staying longer last year, but his father had ushered him into the house, loudly proclaiming the start of their hibernation. He’d fallen asleep and dreamt of that mysterious man.
Moomin became so absorbed in chasing distant, fuzzy memories of his dreams that he gasped and nearly fell off the fence he was perched upon when he heard it again: the music! He was here, he was here! Moomin straightened up to his highest as he sat upon the fence, squeezing the fence-post in his paws, grinning jubilantly. He could hear the music floating from the woods.
And oh, what music it was! It started out almost shy, a reserved little trilling of a melody, and then bounded upward, a powerful, almost shocking shift of notes, crying out for all the heavens above to hear. It then twisted and bounced and twirled about, playful and sprightly and so alive! Just listening to it made Moomin grin from ear-to-ear, his heart leaping in his chest. How could music be so fantastic, so magical? Everything he’d ever heard before, from Moominpapa’s record player or the guitar that Too-Ticky had, or the winter birds up in the chilly tree-tops, there was nothing that could compare. All of those songs, they were slow … some of them somber and melancholic, others tender and sweet, but either way, as solemn and slow as the turning of the sea into ice. But this– this was different. This made Moomin feel so very different.
And then, all at once, the mysterious man had appeared. Moomin felt his heart give a great big bound at the sight. Oh, goodness; he was the very specter of beauty itself. Clothed in bright green robes and a large-brimmed hat, he was peppered with pink and violet little flowers, wrapped in the coiling grip of vines, his hat weighed down with a huge flower wreath and several bright plumes of bird feathers that Moomin didn’t recognize. A bright yellow scarf wrapped about him several times and ended tied with another particularly large blossom, and even his heavy boots seemed to be sprinkled with soft pink flower petals. Moomin could not see his face too terribly well from so far away yet, but he could see it was sprinkled in freckles, ornamented with an adorable pointed nose, festooned with fluffy chestnut hair that was growing wild under his cap, and complete with the most spectacular smile Moomin had ever gazed upon. Moomin leaned against the fence-post, straining to see all that he could see, absolutely spellbound.
The mysterious, musical man shuffled out onto the path through the field, the slick metal instrument held pressed into his face; Moomin hadn’t seen an instrument like it before, but it seemed as though his breath itself is what drew forth the lovely, sweet tones. Hopping and jumping along the path, the man grinned as he played, looking as though he was having the time of his life. Moomin’s tail whipped rapidly to and fro, finding himself wanting to move just the same. He watched as the man twirled about in a graceful, rapid circle and then skipped merrily along, and Moomin couldn’t stop the joyful laugh that leapt from him at the sight. What a jolly, wonderful thing, this musical, lively man! It made Moomin’s heart soar!
Unable to stand still any longer, Moomin bounded off the fence-post and began to dance to the remarkably cheerful tune. He paid no attention to how he moved, not caring if he looked silly or not; he just let himself move along with the feeling, hopping and spinning about, swinging his tail, grinning and laughing giddily. He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, bouncing and waving his arms, the sweet sound of the man’s music filling his ears, but when he’d opened his eyes again he nearly startled straight out of his own fur. The man had noticed him, and he’d walked over this way; he now stood only a few feet away, his mouth still poised over his instrument, a shy little smile curved at his lips.
Moomin froze, staring, much like a deer that had been startled and rooted to the spot in shock. Then his limbs kicked back into play and he scrambled backwards, nearly falling over in his haste, climbing back over the fence around his house and standing nervously behind it.
“W-wait! Hold on, don’t leave!”
Moomin stood there, staring. The man had spoken. His voice had been unexpected– smooth, warm, but kind. Moomin clutched to the fence-post and twitched his tail nervously. He swallowed.
“H … .h-hello.”
The man smiled at him, and Moomin felt a funny warm feeling swell in his chest and tickle about at his neck. Oh, goodness. Goodness, indeed.
“Hello. I couldn’t help but admire your dancing. I’ve never seen anyone dance so freely and so splendidly before.”
Moomin felt his face flush pink, squeezing the fence in his paws, glancing away bashfully. No, no, no, how could he say such things? It was he who was so wonderful; that magical tune of his.
“Th-thank you, but it was only because you were playing so splendidly. Your music is the happiest thing I’ve ever felt.”
He dared to peek again at the man. He found the fellow with his jaw slightly agape, his fluffy brows raised up high; those lovely chestnut eyes reflecting great surprise. Moomin became distracted with how the light played off his eyes, and seemed to reflect golden flecks and a small halo of green.
“That’s an awfully kind thing to say, ah … ”
The man shifted, adjusting his scarf and almost looking terribly shy himself. He started again:
“My name’s Snufkin. What’s yours?”
Moomin swished his tail and smiled gently.
“My name’s Moomin.”
“Moomin …” the man said the name, and Moomin decided he very much liked how it sounded, coming from that man’s golden voice. The fellow took a cautious step forward, and seemed to be looking him all up and down. Feeling emboldened, Moomin let him, gazing back calmly.
The man’s eyes returned to Moomin’s gaze. Softly, he said,
“You glitter so beautifully.”
Moomin’s eyes widened– that had not been what he’d expected. Blushing, he glanced away again.
“A-ah, well. I’m a winter spirit. It’s the ice that shines.”
Moomin noticed that at the man’s feet, the grass had grown quite green, little daisies sprouting up among it.
“I’ve never met a winter spirit before,” the man said, and Moomin looked shyly back up to him. In the sunlight, he seemed to glow.
“I’ve … never met a spring spirit before,” Moomin said.
A sweet, gentle smile graced the man’s face.
“Would you like to walk with me for a spell and talk?”
Oh, dear. Moomin felt his common sense caving in and crumbling like dust. There wasn’t any way he could say no to him. He felt as though if this fellow invited him to walk to the darkest corners of the earth, he might very well say yes.
The man continued, saying,
“I could play a tune for you, if you’d like. It’s … no fun playing just for yourself all of the time, to be honest.”
Moomin gave his home a backwards glance. He thought of all the things he’d been warned about spring spirits and the laws of Mother Nature, and how he could never break them.
Then he looked upon that lovely man.
He swished his tail and grinned.
“All right!”