I actually wrote this over 6 months ago but didn't want to update because it happens chronologically after another chapter, where snufkin meets moomin. But then I decided, hey I've been sitting on this too long. *yeet*

This chapter: Autumn meets Spring, and tries to caution them against falling in love with a mortal. Snufkin doesn't heed fair warnings.

"You shouldn't be here."

The sky had become overcast, the forest had changed in an instant from warm and inviting to cold and dark, the sun that had previously shed its rays through the branches all but gone.

The Joxter tipped his hat, adorned with twine and brightly colored leaves. "Is that any way to greet your father, little one. You'd almost think you aren't happy to see me."

Snufkin scowled at the affectionate nickname, tapping his pipe against his leg to get rid of the excess tobbaco stuck inside and go about preparing a new one. "That's irrelevant," he said, not commenting on the truth of such statement either way. "Still means you shouldn't be here."

"It couldn't hurt for just a minute, now could it?"

A dark mass of clouds rolled above them, rumbling in subdued agitation, threatening a formidable storm. The stark blue of the sky ugly and carved through with their grey mass, clashing dangerously. Both of them regarded the spectacle for a second before looking at each other, Snufkin with a frown on his face. Joxter merely smirked.

"Do not fret so much, my son. It hardly becomes someone like you." He splayed out on the ground carelessly, his clothes already dirty after months of travel. "Besides, it has happened before."

"As is well remembered," Snufkin remarked. He held his pipe to the flames of his campfire, an unconventional way to light it but the sparks seemed to obey him just the same. "That day is still spoken of in folktales by many people. We are not allowed to let it get that bad again."

"I know."

They sat in amiable silence for a bit, while the weather recoiled above them. The sunbeams filtered through the clouds from time to time, vivid in their attempts at overcoming the brooding tempest. People would be wondering already why the world behaved so oddly today.

"Why have you come then?" Snufkin asked at length when his father showed no sign of either leaving or stating his cause. Autumn could be terribly languid like that, as was fit for the season he fostered.

The Joxter merely lifted his hat from his face in answer, which he had put there to ward off the stubborn sunlight trying to chase away his gloom. He watched Snufkin smoke for a few minutes more before saying. "Can a parent not simply see how their child is faring in this cold, cruel world?"

"Certainly," Snufkin responded without missing a beat. "A parent could do that."

With a soft laugh Joxter put his hat back down, covering his eyes once more. "Pity that you should be a deity, for you would have made an impressive comedian otherwise. Though on second thought, the world is neither cold nor cruel to you of course."

The sound of thunder echoed uncomfortably close by, but the rain was kept at bay by the conflicting elements, as if uncertain if it should fall. Their gifts were too near in power to distinguish between a clear victor.

"The world is plenty cruel for everyone," Snufkin said, head thrown back to watch the brooding storm. "Even for someone like me."

"And why would that be?"

"I think you already know."

Clearly his intent had been obvious from the start, but that didn't mean Joxter was any better about getting to the point quickly. Snufkin had a rather irritating way of doing that, preferring to pick a direct path in conversations that cut straight to the heart of the matter, to keep any social interactions as short-lived as possible. They were different like that.

"Surprising you has never been easy," he said instead, "But now you wound me. To think so lowly of me. Can't you conceive of any other reasons I'd visit you then?"

"Plenty." A tree shed its leaves, brown and withered. They danced in the breeze, hitting the ground near Snufkin's feet and promptly turning green with life again. "But none of those are why you're here."

With a grunt, Joxter pushed himself upright, his hat toppling off and into his lap in the process. He fiddled with it for a bit, straightening the fabric between his fingers. "If you already know there is no point in me saying it."

Lightning shot down near them, illuminated the forest for a second before it returned to its unusual state of half-light, shadow, and sunbeams fighting for dominance. The earth was unsteady beneath their feet, suspended in animation.

Joxter leaned one elbow against his crossed knees and rested his chin on his hand, amused. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not."

"Lies are not very becoming of you either, little one."

Snufkin scoffed, pipe momentarily forgotten as he clenched it in one fist. "And you do know me so well."

"Like the back of my hand." And Joxter laid his palm on the ground as if to demonstrate. "But I do know much more. I know summer lasted longer in the valley this year than it had any right to, for example."

His son seemed to bristle at the statement, spluttering for a moment. Flowers sprouted up from the ground between them at the sudden rush of emotion, Morning Glory and Begonia. Interesting choice, Joxter couldn't help but think. Symbolism was rarely lost on him.

"There's no need for you to get flustered really," he said quickly, as Snufkin crossed his arms defensively and stood up, a clear sign that if Joxter prolonged the exchange much longer he would make himself scarce. He was often one for running away from his own problems, especially those of the emotive kind. "It was merely an observation."

Flowers had bloomed all around them now. Snufkin's gift had brought them into the world, but the Joxter's presence gave them thorns, sharp and unnatural. It was an odd sight.

"What else did you observe, then?" Snufkin asked after a moment, though he did not sit back down. He seemed to be internally debating on whether to put out the fire or not.

"Plenty of things." One of the flowers grew right up against Joxter's leg. He touched it and it wilted, bending down to the ground miserably. "I'm just warning you not to get attached, really."

Snufkin laughed, a soft sound laced with enough bitterness for both of them. "You say that, but winter has also been prolonged in the valley enough times, don't you think so?"

It was a truth, so Joxter didn't feel the need to answer.

It was not in their essence. It went against all their instincts. Nature deities of their kind were not in the habit of any kind of devotion to somebody besides themselves, fickle and changeable, and much too volatile. But Moomins were gentle creatures, fragile in their own way but very reliable and patient in many others and if there was any creature a being such as the two of them could form an attachment to, it would certainly be a Moomin.

Joxter knew as such from personal experience too.

"That wasn't the same though." He put in nonchalantly. "I knew when to let go, so I did. I do not linger anymore."

And that too was a truth, for autumn had only visited Moominvalley briefly in the past decade, to change the season, as was their duty.

"I can let go too," Snufkin mumbled, making up his mind about the fire apparently. He held a hand above it, and the flames flickered smaller, their heat fading quickly.

"I don't believe you, little one."

"Then don't."

Joxter's legs spread in front of him, the flowers around him had formed a dark patch of decay as they died due to his company, but he went on regardless. "I believe that you are incapable of letting go, in fact. I believe you are in too deep already, that you have sold your heart too easily and that you are only setting yourself up for disappointment and grief."

There was just the slightest amount of snowfall now, the flakes melting as soon as they hit the ground. Joxter caught one in his palm, voice soft. "I do believe you have fallen in love with a mortal, my dear."

Snufkin didn't respond or look at him. He had devoted himself to the task of collecting his few possessions in silence, completely absorbed by the simple motions.

"Are you angry at me?" Joxter asked him, though he cared little for the answer really.

For a few seconds Snufkin didn't say anything. Then without looking back, he sighed. "No. I've never been angry at you."

"Angry with yourself then?"

Again no response. The wind had picked up menacingly now, making it so they both had to hold on to their hats in order not to lose them. Snufkin kept packing with his free hand though.

"Love is not a virtue for us, Snufkin," Joxter said. "It is neither a blessing nor a curse. To us it will remain a blade. We will only end up getting our due cuts, healing over time but always leaving scars."

"Don't speak in language as old as yourself," his child reproached. "It makes you sound ancient. And it doesn't become you." His own words echo back at him, painfully. "Besides, you had Mother."

"That's not the same either." Joxter chided, bracing himself against the ground, having to raise his voice over the ruckus of the earth in distress just to be heard. They were running out of time quicker than he had anticipated and somewhere that hurt too. "You know all too well she also left her marks on me. But time will not claim her as it will your friend."

"I'm leaving now," was all Snufkin had to say to that, and as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulders and turned away, Joxter knew for certain he'd be back in the valley by sundown.

"You're being stubborn and childish," he called after him, though it was clear his son had made up his mind about ignoring him. "What a dreadful combination that is."

His surroundings grew colder rapidly as Spring departed, the snow now picking up in earnest. The sun left with them. Joxter laid back down again - the flowers turned to frost around him - and mused about the tragedy of life and the cruelty of love, without caring how ancient that thought would make him.

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