Chapter 2

"You need to be as quiet as possible." The Joxter whispered into Snufkin's ear. The mumriks were crouched together behind a thicket of bushes, a slight gap in the foliage giving them a view of a fat hog drinking from a stream. Snufkin could feel his father's breath against his ear. It made him sweat. The pressure, the bowstring pulling hard on his fingers, the thought of killing the unsuspecting creature.

He gulped. Unable to look, he fired the arrow. He heard it whistle through the air before a jarring twang bounced back at him. The hog grunted and took off in the opposite direction. Joxter sighed and Snufkin heard him notch an arrow. Another whistle but this time it was followed by the pained squeal of the hog.

"C'mon." Joxter commanded. "And fetch that arrow." He felt sick as he took off his boots and rolled up his trousers, knowing that just behind him Joxter was delivering the killing blow to the creature. He waded into the stream, found the arrow and turned just in time to see his father pull his arrow from the hog's hind leg.

"We'll be able to use every part of this." Joxter said, tying the dead animal's feet to a pole for them to carry home. "Meat, obviously, pelt, bones. Just about all of it is useful."

"Mm-hm." Snufkin agreed. He didn't really know how to talk to his father. He never hunted before, nor did his mother. They scavenged if they needed to, but mostly bartered for their food in small settlements or bought from a farm. His mother had quite a way with textiles that few others could match so they made their living off of that.

Snufkin cringed through the Joxter's tutorial on skinning an animal, something that smelled and felt awful. He was happy to wash the blood away in the river, but he could feel his father's eyes burning into the back of his neck the entire time.

"It's gonna storm later." Joxter said suddenly, taking Snufkin out of his watery stupor.

Snufkin's gut churned. He hated storms with a blazing fury. He always had. The way the sky shrieked, the way lightning flashed, the way the wind made everything tremble and shake, it all made him want to bury himself in a hole and never leave. Something told him that it was best not to say that to the Joxter.

"Is that bad?" Snufkin inquired, not wanting to show himself a craven as well as a terrible hunter. Besides, he thought that the cabin might actually flood.

"Not for us. The cabin's on a hill, I was just hoping to go to the nearby village tomorrow." He shrugged. "I guess it'll have to wait."

Snufkin knew the village he spoke of, he had passed through it with his mother during their search for Joxter. The locals had been accommodating and sweet if not a little too curious when they mentioned the name "Joxter".

There was no sun to bask in, so the mumriks dried off and went straight home, Joxter immediately boarded up the door and windows. He stewed a choice cut of their day's kill with some carrots and potatoes and served it in a bowl with a glass of milk.

"Thank you!" Snufkin said, inhaling the mouth-watering scent. The Joxter was by no means an extravagant cook, but he knew how to cook a nice piece of meat, something the Mymble had never tried and rarely bought. Good meat was expensive after all.

Joxter grunted an acknowledgement and silently ate his food, the ears atop his head quirking and twitching in every direction. He could hear the storm getting closer. Without finishing his food, he went and lit a fire. The chimney went right by the bed on the upper level and there were metal pipes inside the walls that heated up whenever the fire was ablaze.

When he turned back to the kitchenette he saw Snufkin at the sink, washing and scrubbing the dirty wares. He almost faltered, not expecting his son to take up the chore without so much as a hint from him. Then he saw that his own bowl, which he had left half full, was not on the table. When he got closer he could see that both bowls had already been cleaned, Snufkin working on scrubbing the grime from the pot the food had been cooked in.

"Snufkin?" The Joxter said, his voice unreadable, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed at his son.

"Yes?" Snufkin replied, the slight smile he had on his face melting when he saw the older mumrik's glower. "J-Joxter?" He stuttered, his eyes betraying fear.

"Where's my food?" Joxter asked, knowing full well half of his dinner was in the bin, but he wanted Snufkin to know exactly what he'd done.

"W-what?" Snufkin stammered, his eyes darting back and forth, realisation ebbing its way into his mind. "Oh." He said, sounding and feeling smaller than an ant.

"Oh?" Joxter spat, stalking up to his son and reaching a clawed hand up to his throat. He didn't squeeze or tighten his hand, but just having it there seemed to be enough to get him Snufkin's undivided attention. "You binned half my dinner while I was making sure we would be warm during the storm tonight."

Snufkin's eyes widened, his throat went dry and his lip trembled. "I'm sorry…" He whispered. "I, I just thought-" The Joxter cut him off by throwing him to the side by his throat. It wasn't a very hard throw, barely enough to make Snufkin fall onto his rear, but it still made him tremble at the sight of the Joxter, who was glaring down at him with slit pupils. Then his father turned away and rummaged through the cupboards, looking for something to substitute half of his dinner.

Snufkin creeped away to the upper level, hiding in the corner right next to his chest. He felt tears brim in his eyes. He'd done it again, he did something stupid and made his father angry with him again. Sure, the day hadn't been going great but he thought he could make it better by doing some of the cleaning that Joxter always did. He'd been so happy that he'd had the idea he didn't really take the time to ask why most of Joxter's food would still be in his bowl, he just tossed it in with the rest of the rubbish and cleaned. When he saw the furious look on Joxter's face and finally realised what he'd done, he couldn't believe his own stupidity.

He stayed huddled in that corner long after Joxter had scraped together a dinner of hardened bread and lightly fried pork, long after the rain started to patter on the roof and wind began to whistle between the trees.

Snufkin decided that the best thing he could do was apologise and swear he'd think more in the future. He slowly and shakily descended the stairs and sauntered right up to Joxter, who was lying against a pile of pelts by the fire, a smoky cloud coming from the pipe he was puffing.

"Joxter?" He said, his voice as meek as a mouse. His toes curled into the furs under his bare feet, his fingers wringed against one another and his tongue darted to wet his chapped lips.

"What?" The Joxter growled, slightly opening one eye.

"I'm sorry!" Snufkin blurted, wanting to force everything out before he lost his nerve. "I, I didn't think earlier and I just wanted to help and, and I wanted to show you that I could be helpful and, and…" He trailed off, the eloquent apology he rehearsed in his head replaced by the sorry excuse he just spat out.

Joxter eyed him. He couldn't tell what he was thinking at all. Had he only made him angrier? Had his display made things a little better? He just couldn't tell with him.

They stared at each other, by which time Snufkin had been sure that he made things even worse. His lip trembled again, and muttering even more apologies he backed away, kicking himself.

The Joxter sat forward, rubbing his temples as he set his pipe to the side. "It's fine." He said before Snufkin backed away too far. "Well, it's not, it was very annoying, and frankly I wanted to smack some sense into you," Snufkin clasped his hands behind his back, hoping that maybe this was going to end well for him. "but I suppose you didn't mean it."

Snufkin swore his heart did flips in his chest. He let a small smile creep onto his face, elated that he got somewhere better with the Joxter.

"Thank you."

Joxter nodded and leaned back into his furs, pipe back in his mouth. Snufkin lay down on the furs too, only a foot or so from his father. He could hear the storm getting closer and he certainly didn't want to be huddled alone in a corner when it got there. He looked around for something to occupy himself. Usually he'd play his harmonica right about now but…

He could see Joxter's pan flute sitting on a shelf by the fire-place. He walked up to it and held his hand over it. He thought before acting this time and looked over his shoulder.

"Joxter?" He said, his hand still hovering over the instrument.

Joxter half-opened an eye and nodded. Smiling, Snufkin took the flute and sat across from his father again. He blew into it, a bit surprised by the pitched tune. He blew into it again and again, playing a random assortment of notes that didn't sound nearly as eloquent as when Joxter played it.

The Joxter set his pipe down and sat up. Snufkin saw this and thought that his playing was annoying him so he set it aside, somewhat dejected. Joxter gestured for Snufkin to come over to him and instead of taking the flute away he had his son sit between his legs.

"This is how you really play it." Joxter said, placing his hands over Snufkin's. "And you need to purse your lips like this, see?" Snufkin copied his father, elated that Joxter was taking the time to show him how to do it properly. "And don't just jerk it from side to side, slide it smoothly." Snufkin just blew as his father moved his hands for him and just like that, he was playing proper music. Of course, it wasn't so much a song as it was a rudimentary melody. Still, he was learning.

The fire cracked and burned as the father and son played together, so engrossed in the music that neither noticed when the rain got heavier, the wind blew harder and then-

CRACK!

The sky roared, an intense flash enlightening the cabin for just a split moment! Snufkin paled and buried himself in his father's chest, hands covering his ears.

Joxter was startled. Of course, the thunder took him by surprise, he'd been so engrossed in his son's playing, but his son's visceral reaction also caught him off guard. Then again, he also wasn't fond of the rumbling and reacted much the same at Snufkin's age. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled a thick fur over them as they lay in the pile.

"It can't hurt you." Joxter whispered into Snufkin's ear. It didn't stop his son's trembling, especially when another roar tore at the heavens.

"Mama." Snufkin cried, trying to bury himself further into Joxter.

"Mama's not here, Snufkin." Joxter tried to soothe him but knew that few things could comfort a scared child as much as a mother's embrace. "Only your papa."

The storm raged on, seemingly not getting any further away. Snufkin was glad his father was there, holding him and running a hand through his hair even though he'd made him so mad earlier that evening.

The storm had gotten so loud and so close that to Snufkin it sounded as if the thunder was clapping right over their cabin. "Papa!" He sobbed, wrapping his arms around Joxter's neck.

"I'm here!" Joxter assured. "I'm not going anywhere." Snufkin's state struck something primal in Joxter, something he didn't think he'd had in a long time; an unadulterated and unyielding urge to protect his child. Was this what Mymble felt? What other parents felt towards their children? To want to hide them away and make it so nothing could hurt them? For years he viewed himself as being unfit to be a father, not a good one at least, but now…

Their tails tangled together, father and son waited out the storm, falling asleep in each other's embrace.

Joxter woke first. He could see sunlight poking through cracks in the boarded windows and he heard birds chirping their morning song. He eased Snufkin off of him, wrapping him in the warmed furs as he went about assessing the damages. After clearing the door, he went outside and was happy to see that the area hadn't flooded. The river had bloated a couple of feet, but it was nothing that wouldn't go down in a week or two. The path to the village was a little waterlogged and a tree had fallen but nothing that should keep them away. They'd be able to go that day after all.

Joxter walked back in just as Snufkin stretched awake, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Morning." Joxter said, sauntering into the kitchen.

"Good morning, papa." Snufkin said, seating himself at the table with his tail lagging behind.

Papa. Something lit up inside Joxter when he heard Snufkin call him that. A smile tugged at his lips as he sliced some salted pork into strips.

"We're going to the village today." He said, taking the seat across from Snufkin and placing the platter between them.

"What for?" He asked, biting into a piece of pork.

"Food. Bread, salt, flour, vegetables, things like that." He answered, chewing his own piece. "We'll wash before we go."

Snufkin stuck close to Joxter's side as they walked into the village. Most people were fixing damages incurred by the storm, others had already set up shop selling food and supplies, things people might need in the aftermath.

"Mornin', Joxter!" A rotund, yellow furred man said as the pair entered his shop.

"Morning, Sunny." Joxter replied, leaning against the counter as Snufkin explored. He saw some of the things his father had rattled off that they needed earlier, namely a stack of sacks of flour that were as long as he was tall. Snufkin reached up on his tip-toes, slipping his hands under the top sack and trying to pull it away.

"Oh! Little boy!" Sunny cut off his conversation with Joxter when he saw Snufkin dragging the sack from the pile. Snufkin didn't register the call in time, buckling under the weight of the sack as it dragged four more off the top of the pile. The sacks exploded in a cloud of white, coating Snufkin and most of the floor in the fine powder. Snufkin coughed, wiping the flour out of his face.

"Snufkin!" Joxter growled, storming over to his son and dragging him to his feet by the arm.

"That hurts!" Snufkin cried, his father's tight grip and sharp claws digging into his bicep.

"Good!" Joxter said coldly, marching Snufkin into a corner and forcing his nose against the wall. "Stay there."

Snufkin could only listen with a stone in his gut as his father apologised profusely to Sunny, saying things about working off the damages and having Snufkin clean the mess up. The boy began to tremble in the corner, fearing what his father would do now that he'd done something really stupid, something that was gonna cost both of them.

Hope kindled in him when Sunny said that they wouldn't need to pay for the flour or work it off and that he'd be okay with just having the mess cleaned up. The Joxter disagreed and decided that his son needed further reprimand.

"He's your boy." Sunny conceded. "It's not my place to tell you what he needs."

"Snufkin, come here." Joxter commanded. Snufkin wasn't in a belligerent mood and turned away from the corner, unable to look the men in the eye as he approached them. "Look at me." Joxter demanded. Snufkin stared up at those slitted, angry eyes, bile almost rising in his throat. "Sunny here is being very generous and is not making us pay for the flour you wasted, you'll just be cleaning it up. Understand?"

"Yes, Joxter." Snufkin said, barely audible.

"Yes, what?" Joxter said, seemingly aggravated further by Snufkin's choice of words.

"Yes…papa." He rescinded, hoping it was what he wanted.

"That's better." Joxter said, pulling a chair out from behind the counter and seating himself in it. "Now, take off your coat and come over here."

Confused, Snufkin did so, leaving his flour-doused jacket folded on the floor. Before he could ask what was happening, Joxter pulled him by the arm over his lap and wrapped an arm around his waist, trapping him there.

"Papa?" Snufkin said, unease creeping into his voice. Joxter didn't reply, he just gripped the waistband of Snufkin's trousers and yanked them down to his knees. "Papa!" Snufkin shouted, his face flaring deep red at having his hindquarters exposed so suddenly and in front of a stranger no less.

He couldn't get another word in on the matter before Joxter raised his hand in the air and brought it down with a furious smack against his son's bare rear. Snufkin yelped and thrashed, his tail protesting by waving in Joxter's face. Joxter grabbed it and pinned the tail under his arm, making sure it didn't get in his way again.

Sunny puffed at a pipe as Joxter peppered his son's rear with smack after smack, filling the store with the noise of flesh smashing against flesh. Snufkin was quickly reduced to sobs by the spanking, Joxter not holding much back as he reddened his son's cheeks.

It went on for longer than Sunny would've liked, long enough for him to know the boy would've been bruised by now. Subtly peaking at Snufkin's rear-end confirmed that notion, they would be purpled before long if Joxter went on at his current rate, and Sunny could see in the mumrik's eyes that he had little intent to stop soon.

"Papa please!" Snufkin begged, no more energy in him to even buck or clench at the fierce smacks. Joxter paused for a moment and breathed, really looking at the damage he inflicted unto his boy's rear-end. He internally cringed, knowing that he went more than a bit further than necessary. Still, a silver lining would be that Snufkin would never forget this lesson and would think more in the future.

Joxter let his son up from his lap, who on shaky legs began to rub furiously at his burning cheeks, humility forgotten in this stranger's presence. Joxter pulled Snufkin's trousers up from his ankles lest any passers-by see something unbecoming. Snufkin cried out at having something over his sensitive rear so soon but Joxter ignored him. He grabbed his son by the shoulders and forced him to face Sunny.

"Apologise." Joxter ordered coldly.

"S-sorry, s-s-sir." Snufkin sobbed, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Sunny nodded, thinking that the child had more than made up for the incident, though he knew Joxter wouldn't let him off the hook so easily. He fetched a brush and pan which Joxter took from him and then gave to his son, pointing to the mess. Sunny couldn't help but feel sorry for Snufkin as he went about the task of sweeping up the flour, his hand going into the back of his pants every so often to try and ease the sting.

"I'll be back in a few minutes." Joxter said, walking to the door. "Do not pull anything while I'm gone, you hear me, Snufkin?" Joxter scolded, staring accusingly at the boy.

"Yes papa." Snufkin mumbled, feeling smaller than ever before.

Sunny didn't want to just watch a sniffling child gloomily clean up a mess he didn't mean to make, so he got out a broom and started to sweep with Snufkin. The job went by much quicker with the both of them working on it, Sunny humming a tune as Snufkin remained silent.

When they had mostly finished cleaning, Sunny would still need to mop later and scoop up the remaining particles, he told Snufkin he could stop.

It was then that Joxter came back in, the bag on his back brimming. He apologised to Sunny again, bought a sack of flour and left with his silent son in tow.

Snufkin didn't say a word on the way home, nor did he say anything when they got home and packed away everything Joxter bought. He nodded wordlessly when Joxter told him to strip in the middle of the kitchen as he boiled a large pot of water.

Snufkin stood in a water basin as Joxter washed him with a cloth and combed the clumps of flour out of his hair. Being cleaned with warm water would've been nice in most other circumstances, but his sore rear-end and Joxter's icy glare made it awkward and uncomfortable for him. He was wrapped in a fur and told to sit in front of the hearth as Joxter lit a fire.

Joxter went outside to dump the used water and puffed on his pipe for a while, leaving his son to dry off inside. He sighed, frustrated with Snufkin, himself and just about everything at the moment. This was one of the last things he wanted to happen but his son seemed to have little to no sense of foresight or restraint in him at all, just doing anything that came to mind without a single thought. Joxter knew that Snufkin only had the best of intentions and that he didn't deserve to be spanked so harshly and in front of someone he didn't know.

After calming down somewhat, Joxter went back inside and saw that Snufkin was still in the exact position he'd left him in, the fire blazing warmly. He fetched two things from his own pack and sat next to his dejected son, who flinched at his sudden appearance. Joxter's gut wrenched. He didn't want his son to fear him, not at all. He wanted him to respect him, sure, but be so scared as to not want to be near him.

"C'mere, Snufkin." Joxter gestured. He crawled over and Joxter gently lead him over his lap again, moving the fur to the side.

"Papa please no!" Snufkin cried, struggling to move away. "I'll be good!"

"It's okay, Snuf." Joxter cooed, rubbing soothing circles into the boy's back. "I'm not gonna spank you again." With that, he took from his pocket one of the two things he bought while Snufkin had been cleaning. It was a flat, metal tin, one that smelled of coconut. He screwed it open and scraped his fingers across the waxy, white, oily balm. "This should help with the sting." He said, smearing the balm onto Snufkin's deep-red cheeks. Snufkin groaned, no doubt not appreciating Joxter's calloused fingers.

When he was done, Joxter flipped Snufkin over and cradled him in his arms. "I'm sorry, Snufkin, I shouldn't have done that, not as harshly as I did and certainly not while we were still out."

Snufkin didn't know what to say, so he just wrapped his arms around his father and was glad things were okay again. Basking for just a moment longer, Joxter set his son in his lap and pulled out the second item from his pocket.

"Here." He said, handing a small, long, black box to Snufkin.

"What is it?" He asked, wonder in his voice.

"Open it and find out." Joxter grinned. Snufkin did so and gasped at what he saw. Lying in the box was a shiny new harmonica, one that glistened in the firelight.

"Thank you, papa!" Snufkin declared, embracing his father around the chest.

"You're welcome, Snuf." Joxter replied, burying his face in his son's hair. "I hope you like it."