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Snufkin had been traveling alone for as long as he could remember.
He preferred it that way, really. His spring and summer were spent in quiet contentment at the valley with Moomin and their friends. There were all kinds of adventures they got up to while there too. But when the wind turned cold and the trees changed color, Snufkin felt the gravity of a more powerful need to wander pull at his feet. Then he would set out, any direction would do. And the adventures through the frozen seasons were truly his own.
Even then he never seemed to fall into quite as much trouble by himself. He had been many places and seen many things, but never had anything bad happened worth telling. Moomin still worried every time – as he was wont to worry about every little thing. But Snufkin always assured him in his goodbye letter. He had been traveling for as long as he remembered and nothing terrible had ever befallen him.
Of course, that meant it was only a matter of time before it did.
It was a silly accident. One Snufkin really should have seen coming, but maybe that's exactly why he hadn't. One moment he was still pitching his tent, having considerable trouble pushing the pegs into ice-hardened ground. The next, he had carelessly knocked against his backpack. The bag fell over, the flaps still open and Snufkin's meager possessions went sprawling along the ground.
It was winter, a thin layer of frost had covered both the forest and the earth beneath it alike, and with the metal of his mouth organ, this became a dreadful blend of disaster. Snufkin made a grab for the instrument as soon as it fell from his backpack, but it was too slippery to grasp and he dropped it again, allowing it to slide slightly away from him across uneven ground. He left the rest of his belongings where they were, chasing after the wayward organ. Any of his other things he could easily replace, but this had sentimental value and Snufkin would really deplore losing it in such a foolish fashion.
He had noticed earlier that the forest he was currently in has many a strange angle, being as he had traveled far enough south to be in hilly landscapes. He was traveling up an incline, and the organ was using this against him now by skidding down at an unusual speed. Snufkin was sure it would stop eventually, but was too afraid of losing it still. So focussed on pursuing the organ was he, that he didn't even notice he was going another direction he hadn't been yet.
After a little sprint, he was just in time in grabbing the mouth organ before it slid straight off a steep cliff at the edge of the forest. His fist closed around it quickly, chilly and wet in his hand – but he sighed in relief. Had he lost it over the edge then surely Snufkin would never have seen it again. He stood admiring the depth of the drop, having not known it was there. The bottom was visible – but barely through thick layers of trees – and jagged rocks stuck out from the side of the cliffs.
It was a frightful sight.
He turned around to start heading back to the place he left his tent at, when he felt himself get caught on a root and then his boots started slipping in the snow too.
For a second it was like tripping. He tried reaching out a hand towards a nearby tree, sure he could catch himself from falling. But much too fast he was already on his stomach, a dull pain shooting into his ribcage. All the air left Snufkin in one rapid exhale, other fist still curled around the instrument.
Then he slid backward.
Desperately, Snufkin tried finding any purchase against the slope, some kind of surface he could grab onto or an anchorage. His feet were pushing for a hold but were already dangling over the edge of the ravine. He thought about calling out, but knew there would not be anybody around for miles, let alone someone who could come and help him in time. His heartbeat was picking up at an alarming rate, so fast he could feel it pounding in his ears. Any second now he would start falling completely, and the fear was enough to make Snufkin try even harder, though he didn't accomplish much more than chafing his bare paws raw against the hard ground and sharp rocks hiding beneath the snow.
He felt his knees slam against the stone surface on the side of the cliffs, gravity working to his disadvantage now as the weight of his body shifted. In one fell swoop, he was falling, only having the presence of mind to hopelessly try to get some grip on the edge of the chasm.
Snufkin was absolutely certain this would be the death of him, and the thought only sent another twinge of pity into him for such miserable circumstances. And for not being able to see his friends one more time.
Just as he closed his eyes, resigning himself to whatever would happen as he started feeling his point of balance tip back, a tight hold encircled his wrists.
Somebody was doing their best to pull both his arms up, grunting under their breath from the strain it took to keep him from falling, and Snufkin had the presence of mind to try his feet again, pushing them off against the rocks to help the stranger tug him to safety. His heart was still hammering away in his chest, but as soon as he was on solid ground Snufkin rolled over onto his back, planting both boots firmly on the ground to keep from slipping away again. Every exhale came out raggedly, and perhaps it was just the adrenaline such a mishap could cause, but he felt too dizzy to focus.
He cracked open his eyes to be able to see whoever his mysterious savior was, and thank them for probably saving his life.
Blinking at the face that stared back at him, Snufkin sighed. The Joxter was smirking, the kind of lopsided grin on his face betraying his amusement, despite the perilous situation. His breathing was also faltered, as the task must have taken serious physical exertion from him.
"What are you doing here?" Snufkin asked promptly.
The Joxter laughed, but the lack of oxygen quickly turned it into more of a cough, which he hid in his elbow. He wasn't wearing his hat and Snufkin noticed it lay some distance off in a bush. Maybe he had lost it in his hurry to help him. "I think a simple thank you would suffice," The Joxter remarked.
Snufkin rubbed the cold sweat the narrow escape had caused from his brow. "I'm certainly glad you're here," he said. "But I'm still wondering how."
"Call it convenient timing on my part."
"Convenient?" Snufkin echoed back, finally sitting up in the snow. His pants were getting soaked, and he still didn't feel entirely safe sitting so close to the edge of this immeasurable abyss that had nearly claimed his life. He stood up carefully, subconsciously reaching out both arms just in case he would fall again.
"Can't call it anything more than that," Joxter said casually, doing likewise to get up himself. "Since I was nearly too late this time."
Snufkin put the mouth organ in a pocket, pushing it down far enough he would be especially sure not to lose it again. "What do you mean 'this time'?"
The Joxter shook his head and retrieved his hat from the bush. "Never mind that, I'd say we get away from this dreadful pit and you can be on your merry way?"
While his curiosity was piqued by this sudden reappearance of a father mostly absent in his life, Snufkin decided to agree and drop the inquiries for now. The gaping bottom of the ravine was still too close for comfort, and though his heart was finally slowing down to a manageable rate, his mouth was dry and it felt like he couldn't entirely breathe as he should. When he stood, his legs were traitorously unsteady and slowly the two started making their way to where Snufkin had left his tent.
He gathered his other possessions up and put them back in his backpack, taking care to fasten the claps tight and lean it against a nearby tree. The Joxter sat on the ground, doing nothing while he watched Snufkin kindle the fire. He was cold, despite the temperature not dropping significantly in the last twenty minutes. It might just be a panic reaction, then.
"Thank you as well," Snufkin said eventually. He held his hands out to warm them on the flames, but they were shaking a bit. Joxter glanced at him from under the brim of his hat. "Though I still can't say I understand."
His father had pulled a pipe out of seemingly nowhere. It didn't look like the Joxter had traveled with much at all – or maybe had had simply been in a hurry. He held the pipe's chamber to the fire upside down, to lighten the tobacco already inside. "You know I'd rather avoid longwinded explanations."
Snufkin drew back his hands. "The short version then?"
"I came because you needed me." The Joxter smiled, as if this was the most normal thing in the world to say. He smoked in long drags, the smoke trailing upward together with the frosty clouds of his exhales in the winter air. "I always do."
Snufkin titled his head to the side a bit, even more confused now. "I don't think I ever saw you besides that once at the Moominhouse," he said.
The Joxter let out a short laugh. "Just because you've never seen me doesn't mean I wasn't there, my dear."
"How often?"
"Like I said," The Joxter answered, "whenever you needed me. It has been many years so surely I have forgotten most previous events. But this one I'm sure to recall for time to come, I'm not used to you getting in so much trouble all at once."
The words only sowed more bewilderment in Snufkin's mind. He could see no reason for Joxter to be lying to him, but he could not help but doubt such a bold statement. "How?" he asked.
"For the longest time, I have always had an annoying penchant for seeing such trouble coming, though it's not as often that I bother avoiding it. Call it forebodings."
Snufkin nodded in understanding. He recalled Moominpappa talking about this in his memoirs, and as much as he had been puzzled by such a foresight existing – probably because Snufkin himself did not have that kind of ability – he could at least realize it was a thing that could be. He just didn't get what bearing it had on him.
He was silent as he mulled the words over and Joxter continued smoking his pipe in idle contemplation. Eventually, Snufkin felt the need to ask the most pressing question on his mind. "But why hide yourself then?"
The Joxter hesitated, quite uncharacteristically so. His smile wasn't entirely gone but had thinned out into an empty facsimile of his usual mirth, as if the thought physically ailed him. Snufkin waited patiently but feared that maybe he would never get a proper answer. Then The Joxter let out some more smoke in one quick puff.
"One can only guess it's misplaced guilt, in the end. Silly that," he said. When Snufkin didn't say anything more, he continued. "Small children are ever so prone to get into trouble, and you were not an exception to the rule. I admit my lifestyle definitely did not make things easier, but words can not contain how tiring the whole affair made me, constantly fearing for your wellbeing. It was a constant tension to feel like something bad might happen to you at any moment."
Snufkin swallowed around an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. "Is that why you gave me away."
Joxter frowned bitterly. "Oh, how I abhor that," he said, but didn't exactly refute that this was the case. "Perhaps that is the only way to put it, still. I felt it would be safer for you there than with me, though I can't say if that was poor judgment." He tapped his pipe against the trunk, shaking loose the burnt out tobacco. "When you started traveling on your own I was compelled to worry again, but so far my forebodings have not been wrong. I could keep you from tumbling into any real danger, without you even noticing."
"Except for this time," Snufkin said.
"Except for this time," Joxter agreed. He stood up and pulled his scarf closer around himself to brave the cold. "And hopefully next time will not be around any close corners. Do keep yourself safe."
Snufkin couldn't help but smile a little. "I believe you've done that quite well."
"So I have," The Joxter answered. Then, he disappeared into the dark traces of the unfolding dusk, leaving Snufkin alone and with much to think about.