#at least the ones I wanna sail (tall ships my beloveds)

[mycological-mariner]

Cool so I get to start training in a forge and welding and steam engine maintenance and fitting on weekends

[mirai-eats]

2/6/2019:: Flowers

Snufkin/Moomin, Moomins, 1,544 words, for Mune

Pappa dug out an old trunk he had buried in the basement, the clasps stiff with time and the varnish worn down to its muted wood. Inside were more books, all riddled with age and the corners cracked from so much love and attention.

“These some of my books from when I was your age, Moomin,” Pappa explained. He pulled one from the top and dusted the cover, the title in riveting gold punctured across the sails of a ship in a stormy sea. “Why don’t you take a look and see if anything interests you or your friends?”

“Is that really okay, Pappa?” Moomin asked. He pulled out a book with a worn down, olive green binding, the embossed title on the spine worn so smooth it was near impossible to read.

“Well if course you may, all this is just sitting down here I clearly don’t need them. You may do as you please and the rest I bet some neighbors would love them. There are many a tales within this box! Someone is bound to enjoy at least one of them.”

A book with an ivory cover and stained with dust caught Moomin’s eye. The cover depicted a beautiful pink flower, the title declaring it was an encyclopedia for flowers. “Oh what’s this? Snorkmaiden would love it.”

“An old flower guide I got when I was briefly into botany. Maybe Mr. Hemulen would enjoy that, though I bet he knows a great deal more than some outdated flower book could teach him.”

“To Snorkmaiden it shall go.”

The day was storming, with dangerous claps of thunder and lightning that filled their vision with a field of white. Mamma decided this would be the perfect day to clear up the basement of any unnecessary things so she may have more space to store jam and her newest fancy, pickling. As it was too stormy to go out and pass around books, Moomin pulled book after book from the chest and made neat little piles up for all his friends.

All except Snufkin.

Moomin was in a conundrum. He sat on his bedroom floor in a ring of neatly stacked books (the tallest stack going to the Mymble’s Daughter) and eyed an empty spot of floor where Snufkin’s pile would be.

He would never want a book. To borrow, sure, but he refused gifts that weren’t useful in a sense he could eat or use it to survive. He appreciated it when his spoon broke from wear and Pappa whittled him a new one. A book would weigh him down, no matter how interesting the story man be.

His eyes landed on the ivory flower encyclopedia at the bottom of Snorkmaiden’s stack. He pulled the book from the pile and situated himself at his desk and began to read.

—-

The storm passed a day later, and Moomin had trouble getting himself out of bed due to staying up all night reading the flower encyclopedia cover to cover, the fur around his wrist smudged with ink and dust. He passed out the books first thing after breakfast, then tucking the flower encyclopedia under his arm he trekked to one of the more remote parts of the valley where flowers bloomed in meadows of perfumed rainbows thanks to Mr. Hemulen.

He sat amongst the swaying tulips, their silken petals standing tall and regal were being heavily scrutinized by Moomin as he eyed the dainty flowers and the page to its illustration in the book.

“Whatcha up to?” Little My popped out of a hydrangea bush, the pale blue petals caught in her hair.

Moomin gasped and slammed the book shut in alarm, a flush warming his snout. “It’s none of your business, Little My. Now would you please leave me alone? I’m in the middle of something here.”

“Oh no, if it’s none of my business then clearly it is my business,” she huffed and crawled closer, her red bun bobbing between the tulip stocks. “Spit it out, Moomintroll. I wanna know or else I’ll eat all of Moominmamma’s marmalade before you can have any.”

“Mamma would never let you do that,” Moomin protested.

“No one can make me do anything. Tell me or I’ll eat your snack stash, too.”

“How do you- oh never mind. I’m trying to make a flower crown for Snufkin’s hat.”

Little My quirked a brow, her devious green eyes glinted with her malevolent spirit. She stood to her full height, not impressively high, but she made up for it in gusto. “You make him flower crowns all the time for his hat. What’s so special- ah. I see.” She had leaned over to look at the book in his paws. Before Moomin could tighten his grip, Little My had snatched the book from him and bounded away with her cackling laughter.

“No, Little My! Come back!” He scrambled after her. It wasn’t long until their chase ended spectacularly with Moomin face down in mulch and Little My on his back flipping through the book the size of her whole body.

“Tulips… tulips… tulips… oh, here we go! ‘A declaration of love’,” she read out. “Moomintroll, a tulip isn’t a flower you can easily make into a wreath, the stem is all thick and hollow. Now why won’t you pick an easier flower to declare your undying love for Snufkin, like oh say, a red rose?”

“That’s generic and- how do you know I love Snufkin?”

“Everyone in Moominvalley knows you have a big fat crush on Snufkin, everyone but he knows at least,” Little My explained. “I recommend you be a little less cryptic about it and get him a bouquet of roses then sing him a love song, then maybe his own obliviousness will kick in and he’ll say that was a lovely performance thank you for the roses now how about we go fishing?”

“I’m not trying to be… you know… obvious. I don’t,” Moomin hesitated. “I don’t want to scare him off.”

“Trust me a flower crown made of tulips will if the song won’t. The stems will crack and bleed all over and his beloved hat with be covered in tulip blood,” she said nonchalantly as she idly flipped through the book.

“Do you have any other ideas for flowers or was it really going to be a daisy chain of broken tulips?”

“Fine I won’t do tulips. And, well.”

—-

Moomin found Snufkin perched on the lower branches of a chestnut tree, his hat was tipped over his face as he lounged against the trunk for an afternoon nap. Moomin climbed up the tree, his arm looked through the wreath of flowers. Snufkin felt the tree shudder under Moomin’s weight and lifted the brim of his hat, eyes droopy from sleep but a small smile still graced his face.

“How do you do, Moomintroll?” Snufkin greeted.

“Hullo, Snufkin.” Moomin pulled himself up into a branch next to Snufkin’s and held up the flower crown. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

“An interesting choice of flowers,” Snufkin said with a small laugh.

It was indeed a mess of flowers, as usually Moomin just picked whatever was nearby and the colors usually at least coordinated. This time it was a jumbled, disorganized wreath, but it had meaning.

“I gave everyone books from the cellar today, but you don’t like owning books so I learned something from one of them and made you a wreath for your hat based on my learnings.” Moomin passed said wreath to Snufkin, who delicately took it and started turning it around in his paws, taking in the smallest forget-me-nots, to the largest roses.

“Do tell me what did you learn,” Snufkin said. His eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat.

Moomin gulped, his heart danced a rhythm in his chest that matched the booming thunderstorm from the previous day. “Cosmos, the white ones with lots of long, thin petals, ‘joy in love and life’.”

The smile on Snufkin’s face grew a tad wider. “I like the sound of that,” he said softly.

“The yellow freesia, the ones that look like little cones, mean ‘trust and everlasting friendship’,” Moomin continued.

The smile on Snufkin’s face grew so soft it made Moomin’s heart burn with a warmth that matched the softness of a rose’s petal.

He gulped, but continued. “The purple pansy is- is to ‘think of me’. And the little blue forget-me-nots are to ‘not forget me’.”

Snufkin’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, Moomintroll…”

“And the rose, the golden one, is.” It hurt to breathe. “I’ve ‘fallen in love’. The red roses are… ‘I love you, Snufkin’.”

He said it. He finally said it and now he needs to leave before Snufkin said he needs to leave and never return.

Snufkin gently placed the wreath atop his hat. When he looked up, his eyes were full of words Moomin didn’t know the language of and his mouth started to open, as if to translate them.

“I need to go,” Moomin said before Snufkin could say those words.

“Moomintroll, wait. I-“ Snufkin started to reach for him. Moomin dodged out of the way and hopped down from the low branch and hit the ground running.

He didn’t dare look back.