AN: You thought I was but dead, but HA! I still LIVE on this website somehow. Man. Anyway, if you'd rather read this on AO3 or something, I think I have a link to it in my profile. Or just message me! Or keep reading it here, I haven't abandoned this site just yet.

He is often told by the Hemulen of the strange happenstance in which she recovered him. Often, when she recalls the memory, it's with a trace of bitterness and a touch of anger - feelings never directed at him of course, but he feels them nonetheless.

"It was such an ordinary day," she always begins, her hands working on dinner, or mending a shirt, or turning a page in a book as he sits near her, listening obediently. "Just another day for washing laundry in the river. But as I was removing my dress from the river, I spied a basket - yes, your basket! Floating down the river. And you, sleeping peacefully in it. And no parents around. No, none at all. Just a small mumrik child, barely two springs old. How irresponsible to leave a child alone like that!" And then she harrumphs as she often does, frowning down at whatever is occupying her hands before she looks to him, ending her memory with the same words as always. "Do you understand, Mumrik? Had it not been for me, you would still be floating along, no caretaker to feed you soups, or mend your clothes, or read you stories at night to help you sleep!" Then she will pause, a hesitant look on her face before she turns to him with a confidence barely grasped with the same, worried question. "As long as you're with me, you will be a very responsible, obedient young boy, won't you?"

And always, he responds the same way.

"Yes, Hemulen."

And always, she responds with the same sad frown, before she turns back to her handiwork, never looking him in the eyes as she answers.

"You may call me Hemulenmamma, you know."

But he never does.

The Hemulen is strict but kind. She lays down rules upon rules, demanding order with every step he takes, always keeping a close eye on him as he wanders about her home. If he ever trips and scratches himself, she's always on him in an instant, huffing and fretting as she gently cleans the minuscule scrape with a kind of care she must have practiced before. She always lectures to him the importance of a balanced meal, but if he so much as stares at a sweet for a second too long, she'll always come back home with it in her basket, announcing that since he's been such a good mumrik, she'll treat him just this once. At the tender age of five different springs, he finds that there is no nook or cranny that he is not aware of in her home.

Their home, she'll always be quick to remind him.

But every time the notion of "home" enters his mind, a sense of not-quite-right overtakes him, and he thinks that maybe this "home" isn't meant for him.

Or, perhaps, he's not really allowed to think of it as "home".

The town that they live in seem to think so. Always, when he goes into town with the Hemulen, he sees the disapproving stares of the fillyjonks and cautioned gazes of other hemulens as they glance down at him, as though waiting for him to cause a ruckus.

"If you don't raise him right," he often hears a certain Fillyjonk say to the Hemulen as she buys their food, "he'll end up locked up in jail with the other mumriks."

"That's enough," she'll always respond, taking their food and his paw in hers as she pulls him away. "He's still a child. What right do you have to judge him like that?"

But still, the Fillyjonk judges him, beady eyes scowling down her snout as the perpetual frown remains a permanent feature of hers.

She judges without knowing him.

In fact, they all do, in their own ways.

He sees it with their whispers behind paws, the wary stares, their pointed glances when he lingers for too long. It fills him with a confusing sense of shame, of doing something wrong he isn't yet aware of. He doesn't understand why they stare at him so, and each time he catches their eyes, he finds himself lowering his head, trying to hide from their whispers and scoffs and icy stares.

But. He has the Hemulen.

And each time, the Hemulen will kneel down in front of him and take his paws into her own and say to him:

"Don't listen to them. They don't know you like I do. And you're such a good child, my dear."

But the comfort the Hemulen offers to him does little to soothe his young mind. Why do the others look at him so? As though he is already a menace to their society when he can barely read?

Perhaps it's because of his paws don't look like paws, but have rather slender digits with claws that curl, unlike the Hemulen's.

Or perhaps it's because he lacks a snout like everyone else.

Or perhaps it's because he isn't covered head to toe in fur.

The other townspeople don't seem to like him much, and he can't understand why. He asked the Hemulen once, but she simply kept her mouth shut and looked away, uncomfortable and uneasy as she tried to direct his attention to something else.

It's obvious, really.

He doesn't belong here.

Not with the kind Hemulen. Or in this town full of huffy fillyjonks and single-minded hemulens, with their overbearing laws and rules that make him want to run away.

No no, he can't stand to live in a town full of pointed stares and grumpy creatures who snap at him if he stands on a tidy lawn, or put up signs saying he's not allowed inside a park just because they can. He'd rather be with creatures like himself, who have hands instead of paws, a flat face rather than a protruding snout, and bodies with fur that only covers parts of his body. Creatures that are mumriks, just like himself.

He belongs, he thinks, with his real parents.

Not with the Hemulen, even if she wants him to call her Hemulenmamma. Even if she acts like she could be his mamma, when she really isn't. She is kind, but the differences between them are always pointed out to him.

And because she is so kind, he finds it hard to ask about his parents around her.

So secretly, he wonders of his real parents.

Do they miss him? Did they ever search for him?

Why did they leave him in a basket?

Did they not want him?

Why is he with the Hemulen, and not them?

The Hemulen always tries to distract him, keeping his mind busy with books and lessons, teaching him the basics of cleanliness and housekeeping.

"No no, Mumrik, you must hold the broom like this or else it's much harder to sweep the floors."

"Mumrik, dear, the book must be returned to its proper place in the bookshelf. See how the title begins with the letter J? Therefore, it must go here, along with the other books that start with J."

"Mumrik, always remember to wash up after playing outside! Tracking dirt inside the house leads to an unkempt mind and soul!"

"Mumrik, stand up with your back straighter or you'll live the rest of your life with a curve to it!"

Always always always.

She always had something to say about him. It was on especially bad days, when she'd nag and press him to do something her way that he'd hide away. His hands would cover his ears and he'd squeeze his eyes shut, thinking that perhaps his real parents wouldn't worry too much about holding a broom right, or how dirty he is, or even if today was the perfect day for a math quiz.

It was on an especially bad day that he became especially bitter.

"You just want me to be a hemulen!"

He snapped at her, tears peeking out from the corners of his eyes. She stood stock still, staring at him with wide eyes before kneeling down in front of him.

"...Mumrik, I-"

But he never let her finish.

Instead, he ran off into his room and slammed the door shut, diving into his bed and crying his heart out.

He didn't belong here.

Not in this town full of frowns and grumbles, or with the Hemulen herself. No matter how hard she tried to make him like a hemulen, he could never be like the rest of them.

He was just a little mumrik.

A mumrik with no real parents who abandoned him in a basket to float down a river.

"Had it not been for me, you would still be floating along..."

It was on especially bad days that he'd curl up in his bed and wish that the Hemulen never found him, and that he was left alone in that basket.

At least that way, he wouldn't have known what parents were. And he wouldn't have known what it was like to be unwanted.

The Hemulen changed, after that day. In a sense, she tried to be more lenient. Less pushy, and more relaxed. At least, as much as a hemulen can be.

Perhaps she was trying to let him grow as his own being. But even with the name "Mumrik", he still didn't know what he was supposed to be.

The others seemed to think that he would grow up to be a law-breaking menace. At least, that's what he could gather from their not-so-quiet whispers, or from what the other children would so bluntly tell him when he strayed from the Hemulen and accidentally crossed paths with them.

Incidentally, today was one of those days, as a child no older than him stood closely by as he stared into a closed off park. Before he could get away, the hemulen child began to speak, unwelcome as it was.

"Hemulenpappa told me that mumriks are wild creatures." The small hemulen child was seemingly busy reading a book about fish, their eyes barely lifting to look at him.

"...really." He was already growing tired of the conversation, and if the hemulen child was reading a book, shouldn't they be focused on that instead of him?

"He told me that mumriks are sneaky little things that like to ruin parks and disobey the police just because they can." And then the small hemulen child pauses, looking up at him with a half-lidded stare that made him want to run away. "They get in trouble for all sorts of bad things. Hemulenpappa says that a lot of mumriks become bad creatures because they hold such little respect for others." He can barely form a response before the child tilts their head to the side, almost innocently so as they ask:

"Are you going to grow up to be a bad person too, Mumrik?"

He runs away before he can think of a response.

It shakes him to his core, disbelieving but fearful all the same. Him? A bad person? All because he is a mumrik? That can't be true - he doesn't want to be a bad person! But all he's heard thus far are bad things about mumriks, never nice things. Mumriks and jails, enemies of the law, wild and careless. Perhaps that's why the Hemulen tried so hard to make sure he followed rules, that he was neat and tidy and listened to her every word. Perhaps she was frightened of one day finding him in a Hemulen Jail, because she didn't raise him well enough, or that he became what all the others said he would be.

Those were fears he could see in her eyes every day, when he would go against her word and stray into someone else's property, or pick fruit from someone's garden without asking simply because he could. He didn't understand why the townspeople were so obsessed with their fences and gates with signs saying "DO NOT ENTER" or "NO FRUIT-PICKING ALLOWED" when the Hemulen taught him that sharing was the kindest thing to do.

Aren't they being the mean, selfish ones when he's done nothing but act as the Hemulen taught? Surely the other hemulens would be happier sharing their fruit with neighbors and talking rather than being so closed off and separated from everyone else. Or perhaps the fillyjonks would be more pleasurable company if they simply relaxed and stopped fussing over every little detail for no reason.

It makes no sense to him, but everyone here seems to think so similarly that his tiny voice barely makes a dent in their thoughts, and they turn to him and the Hemulen as though he is the true problem in their little society.

Maybe, he thinks, the Hemulen is just scared that they would take him away from her, because he thinks everyone should simply share with each other, instead of keeping things locked away behind rules and white fences.

Perhaps it was lucky that the Hemulen had found him instead, seeing as she lived with her home without fences and a forest just in her backyard. Here, nature was for everyone, and he could watch nature be unrestrained as it was meant to be.

But he can only act so free around the Hemulen. It's around the others that makes it such a chore to act so... hemulen-like. If he acted a certain way, did things as she said, and kept himself to himself, then perhaps the others would be nicer to him. Perhaps that's why she taught him to be polite, to be kind, to share, to say "thank you" and "please" and "you're welcome", because being nice means that he is a good person, and the hemulens would be nice to him in return.

Perhaps all she wanted from him was to be accepted.

But was it really worth it, to feel so suffocated and downtrodden by the day?

He couldn't be sure.

He's been six springs old for a while when an itch grows within him. He sees the signs up on the fences, and he wants to tear them down. He sees the gates and fences, and a bitter anger forms within him. He sees the way the townspeople look at him and the Hemulen, and he wants to squeeze her paw and say: "It's not your fault they don't like me".

During their lessons, he learns a word that puts a label on how he feels towards this town of the Hemulen has grown up in, bent on order and rules and private property.

"Unfair".

Everything - the way they treat him, how they don't share, all the unnecessary and strict rules, locking away their hearts and possessions from him and each other - was completely and utterly unfair.

But, despite his anger, he finds that a small mumrik like him cannot change a stubborn hemulen's mind. So he sits in the Hemulen's home, reading books and imagining a world where everyone is just a bit kinder, just a bit freer than the creatures here.

(He thinks, just for a moment, that the Hemulen would like this world too.)

(Perhaps, she is as trapped as he is.)

There were days in which he would look to the forest bordering her home and long for the same freedom the birds had.

It was on bright days that he would find himself standing at the edge of her tidy backyard, the wind ruffling his hair as he listened to the sweet, fleeting songs of the birds.

"Mumrik?" The Hemulen calls for him once more, from the doorway of her home. "Mumrik, lunch is almost ready. Come inside and wash up!"

"...Hemulen."

"Hemulenmamma," she corrects.

"Hemulen." He turns to her, his eyes wide and pleading. "...May I please. Please may I take a walk? Just for a bit."

"But it's almost lunch time. Schedules are important for basic time management, you know!"

"I know but." He looks back into the forest. The same yearning returns in his chest, and it's unbearable. "I just. I want to walk in the forest for a bit. I promise to return the minute you finish setting the table."

For a while, the Hemulen doesn't say anything. But she is kind, as she always is, and she sighs her defeat. He doesn't need to look at her to know that she's already given him her permission. But he waits for her to say something anyway. Just to be polite. Probably.

"...Alright. I expect you to be back in no more than fifteen minutes!"

"Yes, Hemulen!"

"Hemulenma-" But he's already gone before she can correct him.

Away from the unbearable pressure, he runs through the forest and laughs boisterously, in a way he can never do with the Hemulen carefully reminding him to use his inside voice. With a whoop, he jumps up to grab a branch, swinging giddily before launching himself into a bush.

Twigs and leaves scratch all over his arms and face, but he finds it of no concern. Well, the Hemulen was going to be upset when she saw all the scratches he was covered in.

But never mind that.

A patch of flowers catch his attention instead.

An array of whites, pinks, and yellows decorate the forest floor, and gently, he goes through the flowers, picking the prettiest ones carefully in his fingers until he gathers a fistful of blossoms, feeling rather accomplished and satisfied.

The gentle white blooms remind him of the Hemulen, and how she always fights through her reluctance to try to give him what he wants.

It's not easy to be a caretaker, especially if the child isn't even yours, he supposes. She doesn't HAVE to be so nice to him, he supposes. It makes his stomach a bit upset, thinking about how the Hemulen treats him so differently than all the other townspeople. He can mess up her garden, and she'll only cluck her tongue and ask him gently to not do that again, less he hurt the flowers. Or he'll purposely stay up past his bedtime because it makes no sense to have a bedtime, and she'll only chide him a little before pulling out a book to read to him.

He could make another hemulen angry at him, simply for standing in a place with a sign that has a big "NO" and a big word he can't understand written on it, and she'd always come to defend.

Not because he can't read the sign and didn't know what "loitering" meant.

But because it was unfair of the other hemulen to get upset at him for doing something absolutely harmless.

And then, she'd still defend him after he knows what "loitering" means, always standing up for him when others would rather see him anywhere but here. So confusing was she to him that he could never tell if she was unlike any other hemulen, or if perhaps this certain town's batch of hemulens were just so dour that they were the unhemulen-like hemulens, and she was the only hemulen who behaved like one.

Or, perhaps the Hemulen was simply...

No. He shakes his head, plucking more flowers to keep his mind off the topic. When all is said and done, the Hemulen has truly looked after and cared for his needs, even if she pretends to be strict and rule-abiding to him. That, perhaps, is why he realizes with a strange gut tugging feeling that he is truly grateful to her, even if he feels like her rules and sometimes overbearing behavior are a bit much.

He was never really good at telling the Hemulen thank you, especially when she always reminds him to say thank you to others in town as a simple courtesy. And, he supposes, he DID forget to say thank you after she gave him her permission to venture into the forest, something she rarely did, if at all.

He looks up at the sky, watching as the fat, lazy clouds drift through the sky at their own leisure.

Thinking about the Hemulen reminds him of the wanted and unwanted thoughts of being someone's child. Somewhere, out there, he wonders if his own parents are watching the same sky as he is?

Or, perhaps, he has no parents at all?

...Maybe, he's just a parentless child?

An orphan who was supposed to be in an orphanage, but somehow managed to find himself floating down a river instead?

(...Perhaps, he was never meant to have a parent at all?)

(Perhaps, he was never meant to be with the Hemulen at all?)

(Perhaps. He was never meant to be the Hemulen's at all.)

(Perhaps.)

(He was never meant to be at all.)

It's too much, he realizes, and he rubs his eyes before taking off with his flowers. Something inside him hurts, and he remembers the Hemulen has a practiced care that works wonders in making him feel better.

He follows the clouds with hurried feet back to the Hemulen's back door, and is greeted with a worried squawk of her voice. It's enough for him to want to launch himself into her arms, but he refrains from doing so. Something makes him hesitate, in the same way he hesitates to end her name with "mamma". However, nothing stops her from launching herself at him, and it's that lack of hesitance that makes him almost envy her.

"Mumrik! Look at you!" She's about to grab at his face when he thrusts the fistful of flowers into her face. Her eyes widen as she looks at the flowers, and for an unrealistic minute, he fears that she is about to lecture him about the rudeness of shoving things into people's faces (though she never has before).

"Um." He starts before she can get started on a sentence. "I picked these. For you. To, uh. Say thank you, for letting me go out."

"...Mumrik." With a tenderness that's sure to have been practiced before, she takes the flowers from him and smiles. "Of course. You're always such a good boy, after all. Now, go wash up for lunch, and I'll take care of those scrapes afterwards." He nods, obeying her as he always does, and races away to wash the dirt off his arms and face.

A few days later, he finds the flowers gently pressed between the pages of a blank book. He takes the book to her and asks about the dried flowers.

"Why, to preserve them longer, little Mumrik."

"But why?"

"I want to keep them for just a bit longer."

"Why?"

"Because." She takes the book from him and closes it softly, keeping the flowers safely inside. "They are precious to me." She smiles sweetly to him, but he still doesn't understand.

(His heart tries to soar, but he shushes the little thing until it calms down. No no, he scolds it, you're not allowed to get excited over something like this. This is not for you, he reminds himself.)

(Not for you.)

He looks at the book, and wonders if the flowers liked to be pressed between pages like that, dried up and lost of their former glory.

Wouldn't it be much better to just remember them as they are, rather than keep their dried remains and to remember them as only remains?

Why even keep the flowers if memories are much more important to keep anyways?

He doesn't ask these questions, for he's sure the Hemulen will give him a long lesson about the importance of flower pressing and why it's important to document every little thing. Instead, he watches as she gets up and puts the book in the T section, despite the book having no title whatsoever.

The romp through the forest changed him, just enough that he finds himself stealing away for walks when the Hemulen isn't looking. It excites him, sneaking off and knowing he's breaking her imposed rule of always being inside the house as he wanders the forest, exploring each new tree and plant and stream as he goes farther and farther away from her home. When he comes back, she always throws a fit of sorts, fretting and yelling as he comes back covered in dirt yet again, missing another lesson yet again, and going off without her knowledge yet again.

When she asks him why he does this, he merely shrugs and says that it feels right.

After the next few times, she stops asking why, and merely accepts it with a bitterness he hasn't seen since her recollections of his strange arrival.

She harrumphs and sighs every time he comes back later than the last time, but her gaze softens every time he presents her with a new flower he's found in the forest. Each time, she takes out that blank book and presses the flower into it. He's known of hemulens who take to collecting things rather obsessively, but he's never really seen the Hemulen do the same thing. Perhaps, he thinks, he should help her find her own thing to collect. Perhaps then, he thinks, she'll relinquish her hold on him. Perhaps then, he thinks, she'll grant him more and more freedom.

He's never really liked all her rules anyways, even if she is kind as she is strict.

So he goes out and finds her a flower each time he wanders off from her home. It's a nice feeling, seeing her face light up every time he presents her with a different flower, and he thinks she's collecting now, even if it's with his help. It's a nice feeling, knowing that he can make her happy simply by presenting her a flower he finds on his outings.

It's nice, but it doesn't stop the slowly growing oppressive feeling he gets whenever he returns to her home. It's not that she makes it oppressive, oh no, surprisingly enough, she's always made it a point to him that her home is his as well.

But each time he comes back, he feels the walls close in on him more and more. Suddenly, the nooks and crannies look far less inviting, and the old corners he used to curl up in are far too small to feel comfortable in any longer.

He finds himself falling asleep outside in the grass, and each time, the Hemulen frets and worries, waking him up to get him to come inside instead.

After a while, he refuses to go inside.

"I can't," he'll say. And each time, he'll have a different reason for why he wants to sleep outside rather than in a bed.

"The stars are nice tonight."

"It's too hot inside."

"The bed feels too stiff."

"I don't like the way the sheets feel."

"My room feels too small."

"I don't like the creaks of the floor."

"It's suffocating inside."

Eventually, the Hemulen relents and buys him a sleeping bag for his naps and bedtime. He'd much rather sleep on the grass itself, but he knows he's already pushing the limits of the Hemulen by disregarding the notion of sleeping inside like a good, obedient child.

But as he watches the clouds drift by in her backyard, the way the grass bends in the wind, and how the leaves dance away from the trees, he finds "obedience" to be more confining then the walls that have surrounded him since he was found. So like the clouds, he drifts through the woods, humming along to the tune of the birds' songs and picking the flowers forgotten by the bees, and allowing himself to ignore for a moment that he's expected to return to the Hemulen, where her grasp on him slowly slips as he wriggles towards what he wants.

What he needs.

"Mumrik!"

Her voice echoes through the woods however, and suddenly what he wants and what he needs are quickly shoved down. He covers his ears and squeezes his eyes shut.

Maybe if he ignores her, she'll leave him alone.

A moment's peace is all he needs.

But the kind Hemulen raised him. Though he doesn't want to admit it, he cares for her feelings. He doesn't like it when she her snout dips down to hide her tiny frown, or when her paws grasps at her dress when he declines another day spent with her. Even though she is a strict Hemulen, who demands he follow her rules when he'd rather break them, she is also so incredibly soft with him, only chastising him lightly when he does inevitably break them.

She could be calling him all sorts of rotten names for the things he does to her - purposely tracking in mud, refusing to sit still for lessons, doing all he can to come home late, chew loudly with his mouth open, hide away from her when she makes him do chores-

But all she does is shake her head with a tired smile and call him, "her Mumrik".

She has an impossible patience that he can't fathom, and while he knows he'd rather not, he drags his feet towards the sound of her voice. The Hemulen brightens when she sees him emerge from the forest, every ounce of worry melting away from her face as though she was afraid he would never return.

"Ah, Mumrik!" She cups his face with the tenderness of a mother, and he almost lets himself sink into her soft paws. "About time! I was worried I would have to call you again for supper!" Her paws pull away from his face to instead gently grab his hand. As she leads him into the dining room, his fingers sink into the fur of her paws.

It's absurd that she would want him to call her Hemulenmamma. Idly, his fingers rub against her paw, and she squeezes back as she prattles on about what she made for supper.

It's absurd, given how different the two of them are. For instance, she prefers order and rules, and he prefers the call of nature and the wildness of it all. She's covered head to toe in fur, and he's barely covered in any, if at all. And she has such nice, fluffy, soft paws. Whereas, his hands are sparsely covered in fur, if he can even call the hair that covers the back of his hand fur. And even then, it's a far cry from "covered" when it's just a small patch on the back of his hand.

It's absolutely, positively absurd that she would want him to call her Hemulenmamma, when he can hardly see any resemblance between them. It hurts, just a little, to notice all the differences between them, and yet she still wants to be his mamma.

Can't she tell?

He never belonged here with her.

And that's why he has to find his real family. Mumriks just like him, who prefer the wild and untamed as opposed to order and rules. Mumriks who aren't covered head to toe in soft, warm fur. Mumriks who aren't hemulens who smile at him with a sad softness to their snouts because the vast difference between them often reminds him that he was never her child, and that he was abandoned in a basket that floated down a river.

"-so I thought, well, a little change wouldn't hurt! And I know how much you love fish stew so- oh, Mumrik! Mumrik, dearest, what's wrong?"

Usually, he doesn't let his thoughts get to him. But the soft sniveling he makes surprises him more than the Hemulen, and she's already getting down on her knees to wipe his tears away as he cries over nothing.

He should be happy living with someone who actually wants him around, but he isn't.

He should be fine calling the Hemulen his mamma, but he isn't.

He should be living somewhere that doesn't make him feel enclosed like an animal, but he isn't.

He should be outside, freer than a bird, following his nature as it calls him, but he isn't.

He feels like he's being pulled one one and another, and he can't figure out which way is the right way to lean, and it hurts when the Hemulen looks at him with those big, brown eyes of hers, so sad, so worried as if he is her own child. But he isn't her child, even if she wishes he was. He's someone else's child, and he belongs with them, not her, no matter how much she wishes he was hers.

(No matter how much he wishes he was hers.)

Her eyes search his face, before she sighs softly and picks him up tenderly, and he can't help how he curls into her, burying his face against her neck and breathing in her familiar, rosy scent.

The Hemulen is a stickler for order. Usually. She carries him over to her rocking chair, and quietly, she sits him on her lap rocks them both back and forth, holding him close to her chest.

"...well. Sometimes one can't help but postpone supper for a bit. I suppose it won't taste as good if one is too sad to enjoy it, yes?" She smiles down at him, and he nods, enjoying her warmth and not enjoying it, wanting to scoot closer, but also wanting to propel himself as far as he can from her. The Hemulen hums, and he makes himself focus on that instead of his thoughts.

At seven springs, he notices a change in the Hemulen. Well, he notices that she begins to read more and more often than she used to. It started after his crying fit, when he cried over nothing and couldn't tell the Hemulen what exactly made him sob so much that they both skipped supper for that night. She took to reading more and more books on mumriks, and gradually, she would bury herself with her study, unintentionally giving him a freer lifestyle as a result. He could spend the entire day picking wild berries and flowers, getting scratched up and feasting on nature's bounty for lunch, and she would be none the wiser. It didn't matter what the day was, he would always find her sitting in her rocking chair, diligently turning the pages of her latest book, before he cleared his throat to remind her that supper was to be soon. Each time, she would be shocked out of her stupor, before rushing to prepare a meal with ingredients that he picked out for her.

At seven springs, he notices a change in himself. The more he spends time outside, the harder it is to actually make himself come home. Now that the Hemulen no longer calls him back for lunch or supper, he finds himself lingering in the forest for longer periods of time, before he forces his feet to return to the Hemulen, for if he does not return, who will remind her to prepare supper? Sure, he can live off berries and fruits, but that's only because his nose isn't buried in books like the Hemulen. Had it not been for the Hemulen, he's sure that he would have disappeared by now. And that itch to disappear refuses to leave him.

So he slowly embraces it.

He finds himself gathering a small pile in his room - well, really, it's just his favorite blanket with a few clothes in it. But soon, he squirrels away an old sack the Hemulen doesn't use anymore and keeps it in his room. The clothes and blanket go into the sack, and then the sack hides under his bed. The dried berries and fruits in the pantry start to disappear into a small drawstring bag that he hides in his sack, and the guilt only subsides when he replaces the stolen goods with the fresher, plumper berries and fruits he finds in the forest.

However, the Hemulen never notices. Engrossed as she is in her book, she hardly notices the sneaky way that he moves around her, pocketing dried goods under her nose as she continues to read. It almost annoys him how she doesn't stop her study to pester him, but he takes his opportunities as he sees it, nearly filling the drawstring bag up to full.

It never occurred to him that he should have ran away from the Hemulen ages ago. Perhaps the moment he knew how to walk. But for some reason, something held him back. Perhaps it was knowing that he would have been ill prepared to run away at such a young age. Or perhaps it was knowing that he hadn't yet grown the confidence to tackle the wild just yet at that age.

Or perhaps it was for another reason.

But, as he looks over his haul, his provisions and preparations, he finds that it doesn't matter now.

He ties a knot onto the sack, keeping it securely shut as he practices slinging it over his shoulder. It's heavy, and cumbersome, and not the best solution to not owning a backpack, but it'll have to do. He stares out his bedroom window and frowns. The skies look clear, and the sunshine warms the forest in such a way that it scratches a yearning out of him. However, he finds himself stowing his sack under his bed, before loudly thumping down the stairs.

No, he decides. Maybe not today.

But soon.

When he reaches the first floor, he's startled by the sight of the Hemulen snapping her book shut, seemingly the last of her pile. She looks up and sees him there, still holding tight to the banister and frozen in place. He blinks owlishly at her, to which she responds in turn. They both stay there in their spots, taking in the sight of the other without much thought, without much wonder.

It occurs to him that he's used to her presence, and that the sight of her doesn't surprise him at all.

It occurs to him that soon, he'll have to get used to her not being there at all. It surprises him how the thought doesn't sit too well with him.

A slow smile creeps onto her snout, and she places the book aside next to her, before patting her lap. With a meandering pace, he makes his way to her, pulling himself up onto her lap without much help. He used to need her help so much when he was younger.

Another sign that he's changing.

She pulls the book back onto her lap, and she flips to a page before pointing at a portrait of a figure just like him - hairy, but not too hairy. Paw-like hands with sharp claws at the ends, ears rounded and naked and visible, and hair wild and untamed - the portrait resembles him, and yet it doesn't. There's something missing there that he can't quite grasp, and he realizes that the eyes are smaller than his big, brown ones, that the claws are longer than his, and that little fangs poke out from the lips, whereas his fangs are tucked carefully into his mouth, where they belong. Before he can even dwell on these small yet noticeable differences between him and the portrait, the Hemulen points to a word that decorates the page.

"Snufkin." She reads it out loud, resting her snout on top of his head. "That's who you are."

"I thought I was Mumrik?" He tries to look up at her, but her snout is planted firmly on his head, so he huffs instead. Her chuckles vibrate against him, and he finds the sensation warm and comforting, leaning into her as she snuggles him closer.

"Yes, well, you are mumrik, but specifically, you are mostly Snufkin."

"So... what does that mean?"

"Well, mumrik is a broad term for your kind. But there are so many mumriks out there - mumriks who are different and alike in so many ways that we call those Mumriks different names. Some are called joxters, others are sangfangels, and many, many others choose to call themselves something else." She leaves her explanation at that, letting him soak in the information as he tends to do. His finger traces shapes into her fur as he hums, thinking about what this means to him.

"So... I'm a Snufkin?"

"Most likely, yes."

"You're not sure?"

"Well." She pulls her snout off his head and hums thoughtfully, rocking the chair back and forth gently. "I suppose there are a few differences, yes. But not all snufkins are the same, just like how not all hemulens are the same."

"Does this mean you'll stop calling me Mumrik?"

"Yes, unless you'd rather not?" She pauses her rocking to look down at him, to which he looks up at her, a finger tapping his chin as he mulls the title over.

While he has gotten used to responding to Mumrik, the name itself was just so generic, he could be lost to a sea of mumriks and nobody would be the wiser. Snufkin had such a charm to it however. The title seemed to sing to him, ringing out what it could mean to him with an ease he never felt with his Mumrik title.

"I think I like Snufkin better, actually." He nods his approval, giggling along when the Hemulen laughs at his display.

"Yes, I suppose it suits you very well, my little Snufkin." She ruffles his hair, and he bats at her hand playfully.

"Is that why you've been reading all these books? To figure out who I am?"

"More or less." She closes the book and sets it aside.

"Was it what you wanted to know?" He crawls off her lap, giving her a chance to stand up and dust her dress off. A faraway look settles in her eyes, and she holds out a paw for him to take. He takes it without a second thought, and pulls her towards the kitchen.

"Well." She hums as he lets go to pick up some fresh fruits that he's gathered from the previous day. "It's hard to say."

There's no excuse for him to stay any longer, now that the Hemulen has moved on from her obsessive studying back to her usual schedule - cleaning, cooking, giving lessons, and fretting over him. Things have gotten back on track, and now he's stuck fiddling with his hands, trying to figure out what he wants.

Surely, he wants to leave. To explore beyond the walls of the Hemulen's house, beyond the forest he's so familiar with, and beyond the oppressive little town they live in. Surely, he wants to fulfill that yearning inside him, that longing that's been resting within for so long.

Surely, that's what he wants.

...

But he can't help but wonder.

What of the Hemulen?

Surely, she wants him to stay. To keep him here and prepare his favorite meals, to walk with him to town and secretly buy him treats when he isn't looking. Surely, she wants to forever call him, "her little Snufkin", and keep him wrapped up in her warm arms, someone so familiar she can confidently call him "family".

Surely, that's what she wants.

It is quite the dilemma, he finds, as he swings his legs from where he sits on a tree limb. He kicks the air, thinking that maybe a solution may present itself to him.

But it doesn't.

And he's left kicking at the air helplessly, staring up at the sky obscured by leaves.

It's a dilemma, he realizes, because he cares about what the Hemulen wants. Although he tried so hard, so stubbornly to deny it all these years, he realizes that he truly does like the Hemulen, more so than he'd like to admit. It's an attachment he tried so hard to fight off, because he believed this particular Hemulen couldn't possibly be family, not when she was so different from him.

Not when he had his own family waiting, possibly, out there, for him. His own Mumrikmamma and Mumrikpappa he could love and be cared for.

But it was the Hemulen who raised him all these years, had it not?

A Hemulen who taught him to be kind and polite, who wanted him to be filled with knowledge, and overall, be a good person.

The attachment he tried so hard to deny had only grown stronger throughout the years, with each little treat, with each little flower, with each little moment shared between the two.

He wants to leave.

He really, really wants to leave.

But at the same time.

He doesn't want to leave her behind.

"Snufkin!"

She calls out to him, with that familiar, soft voice.

And obediently, he trails his way back to her.

What does he want?

What does a snufkin like him really want?

"Hemulen?"

"Hemulenmamma."

"Hemulen."

She sighs, before chuckling good-naturally as she tucks him into bed. "What is it, dear Snufkin?"

He stares up at the ceiling, choosing his words carefully as he ignores the pack under his bed. "Um, what if..."

"What if...?"

"What if, what if you had to pick a book out to read."

"Yes?"

"And there is one book you really want to read. But there's another book you know that someone else would like to read. And, um, usually, you like to read with this other someone. But you know they won't like the book that you want to read. But the book you want to read will make you happier than the book they want to read. What would you do?"

"Hmmm..." she ponders, sitting carefully on the edge of his bed. He scoots over, giving her some more space, but she doesn't take it. "I would go with the book I want to read."

"Even if it made the other person sad?"

"Well." She smiles and ruffles his already messy hair, laughing as he huffs at her paw. "I'm sure the other person would understand, especially if it made me happy. When it comes to choices I have to make for myself, I have to believe that the choice I do make will always be the right one. And sometimes the right choice isn't always the nicest or happiest for everyone."

"I see." He snuggles deeper into his blankets, deep in thought. "So, any choice I make for myself will always be the right one?"

"As long as it makes you happy, I suppose. Hm, but if it means breaking rules than I'd highly suggest against it." She puts a paw on her hip and wags the other one in a playfully scolding manner. "Breaking rules won't make you happy! They only get you in trouble, and being in trouble is never a good choice for anyone!"

He giggles at her posture, piping up playfully from his blankets. "But what if the rules are bad? Or unfair?"

"There's no such thing as bad or unfair rules. Rules are made for the benefit of everyone. That's why they exist! Without rules, there would be no order, and with no order, there would only be chaos! Unruly, uncontrollable, terrifying chaos!"

"But what if the chaos is fun? Maybe a little chaos wouldn't hurt." Although he wasn't completely sure what chaos actually meant, the word itself was fun to say, and he found that he liked the sound of chaos. If it meant the opposite of boring old order, then perhaps chaos wasn't so terrible as the Hemulen made it out to be.

"You are filled with so many what-ifs tonight." She squeezes his cheeks, much to his dismay, and stands up, brushing off her dress. "I hope you'll be able to get some sleep, unless your thoughts bounce around too much in your little head."

"I'll be fine!" He watches her start to leave his room, before the feeling of unease returns, and he ends up piping up one last time. "Um, Hemulen?"

"Hemulenmamma." She turns back all the same, giving him a curious look.

"Hemulen." He reaffirms, more for himself than for her. "How can... how can I be sure that the choice I make, will always be the right one? What if. What if I end up making someone sad because of my choice?"

She stares at him for a moment, with an emotion he can never truly identify, before she settles on that familiar, sad smile of hers. A knowing look is present in her eyes when she finally speaks.

"Sometimes, my dear Snufkin, making someone sad is inevitable. Sometimes, you have no choice but to make them sad." He almost wilts at her words, but she speaks up once more, and her eyes grow softer as she continues. "But, you know, you can learn from your choices. And then eventually, you can make a choice that can make both you and the other happy. It won't be immediate, but I'm sure you can find that choice someday."

Her words settle on his mind, and his mind wanders back to the pack underneath his bed.

"...okay." He watches her from his bed, and seeing her form outlined with the light from the hallway makes him sad in a sense. It is lonely, seeing her standing warm and firm against the light, as it fails to envelop her with that same warm intensity that she radiates. "Thank you, Hemulen. Good night."

And with that same warm intensity that she always had, she smiles and makes to close his door.

"Good night, sweet Snufkin."

In the end, he makes his choice.

It makes him happy.

...and it makes him sad.

He wants to spend his last day with the Hemulen making her the happiest that he could make her.

They spend the entire day doing math quizzes, and cleaning the house, and cooking meals together. All the while, he is on his best behavior. He sits still during his quizzes, he doesn't protest or try to run when she hands him the broom, he chews with his mouth closed, and most importantly, he obeys every little rule she imposes on him as though it were second nature. When it comes time for him to decide what they should do, he chooses to spend the afternoon in her backyard, the abundance of nature there to grace them with its little gifts. The perfect gifts.

Carefully, he makes her a flower crown made out of all the prettiest wildflowers he could find. It is a misshapen, awkward little thing to look at, but she claps her paws with delight when he places it on her head, saying it was the prettiest little thing she has ever owned.

Together, they wander away from the safety of the Hemulen's backyard and gather fresh berries from the forest. While she frets and worries over whether or not they need a permit to do so, he picks the plumpest lingonberries he could find. Eventually, she stops with her constant bemoaning and joins him, chastising him when he starts to eat every other berry he picks.

"You'll get a tummyache that way!" she cries, to which he pops another berry in as a response. She huffs and rolls her eyes, but he doesn't miss the way she tries to sneakily eat a few berries herself.

Together, they head back into the Hemulen's house, where she takes out her pie tin, flour, sugar, and all the works as he washes the lingonberries dutifully. It isn't often that she sings, but they both joyfully sing a little tune she taught him when he was so very little, when he still clung to the hem of her dress and cried every night for a mamma. She gives him the task of making the dough, while she focuses on boiling the berries for the sweet filling of the pie.

The Hemulen loves following recipes to a T, but Snufkin still finds moments where she deviates from the recipe - just a pinch more sugar, just a little more heat, and just a bit more stewing for the filling.

And of course, the filling comes out so very perfect that his mouth is already watering.

She rolls out the dough and carefully sets it in the tin. The hot filling is poured in ever so slowly, and she sets the extra filling aside to be made into a jam. And with that, she and Snufkin both set to work with decorating the top.

It begins looking like a normal lattice, with each strip placed so very carefully, so very precisely that it looks carefully contained and measured. But Snufkin adds his little touches - a misshapen flower here, a poorly formed leaf there, and a few misaligned rows of what he hopes are vines there, and the lattice top is drowned in the chaos of his badly made dough art.

Normally, he'd imagine that any old hemulen would be upset at what he had done. Ruining such a perfectly made lattice with his own messy little creations.

But his Hemulen is a little strange, perhaps a step away from the norm. She laughs instead, ruffling his already messy hair and taking their pie to the oven.

"Such lovely flowers, Snufkin, but I do believe you'll need to practice a bit more, don't you think?"

"Hm, I suppose." She smiles from where she is in front of the oven, and it's then that he focuses so much on the figure he knows so well.

Her hair is soft and wavy, with a goldenness to it that shines nicely in the afternoon sun, unlike the stringy, dull mops he sees on the other hemulens. Her dress is a shade brighter, a lovely lavender that resembles the sky of a setting sun, unlike the dark colors the hemulens in town often don instead, looking more like a starless night sky or a stormy day. She smiles a lot more, he realizes, than the other hemulens, which makes little crinkles in the corners of her eyes, and the crinkles become wrinkles that he sees on so very few hemulens.

She turns back towards him and holds out her paw, and he grabs it with ease, fingers sinking into fur so familiar he could pretend it was his own. The two go out into the living room, where she sits down in her favorite chair and picks up a book to read, and Snufkin crawls onto her lap as he so often does. She reads to him a tale of a witch that falls in love with a songbird, and her quest to find a spell that lets the bird live for eternity. He finds the story sad, for the songbird wanted nothing more than to sing and be free with the witch, but the witch instead chose to lock herself away, and when she finally leaves her study, the songbird had long since died.

It's a sad tale that promises no happy endings, and he wonders why the Hemulen likes the story so much. A story of time wasted instead of time spent. She closes the book with a hum, and hugs him close to her chest, rocking her chair back and forth. While it is tempting to just bury his face in her chest, he instead looks up at her, curious eyes trying to peek into the mind of his strange Hemulen.

"Why do you like that story so much?"

She continues humming, leaning her head back as she thinks. "I don't know. I've liked it since I was a little girl, you see."

"But it's sad."

"Sad? I suppose you're right."

"They could have been happy together, if she'd just listened to the songbird instead of trying to do the impossible."

"Yes, you're right." She stops rocking her chair. "Who do you think was sadder, though? The bird or the witch?"

He rests his head against her chest, thinking deeply. The bird was lonely without the witch nearby, and though he waited so long for her, and sang sweet tunes to try and draw her out. His memories of the time he spent with her kept him rooted in the same tree, and instead of giving up, he chose instead to stay and try to make the past his present in vain. He ended up dying, stuck in the same place he'd always been, when he should have flown away long ago.

The witch, on the other hand, was stuck in a different way. So stubborn, so convinced that what she was doing was for the best possible future of her bird, she never stopped to think of what her beloved songbird wanted. And when she came out, her reality crashed all around her, and she realized just how much she lost, and how powerless she truly was in the face of it all.

Both were equally sad, in his opinion.

Perhaps, if they both had just lived in the present, things would have been different.

Perhaps, both would have been happy with what they had.

The timer in the kitchen rings, and he finds himself without an answer to speak. The Hemulen gets up without a word, and lets him follow her into the kitchen. With a smile, she pulls out the pie, and lays it out to cool before cutting into it. She presents him with a slice, and he takes a bite, letting the flavors sink onto his tongue, memorizing it.

He watches the Hemulen indulge in her slice happily, and he hopes that she will remember this day to be as sweet as the pie on the plate.

He hopes, and desperately prays that she will remember only the day as it is, and nothing else.

When he pulls his pack from under his bed, it's much past his bedtime, and the house is peacefully quiet. A note is left on his bed for the Hemulen, something to explain why he left, and why she shouldn't be upset that he's gone. The pack is hoisted onto his shoulder, and he shifts it around until it sits snugly in place, careful not to jostle it in a way that could make any kind of noise. He peeks out his doorway, looking for any telltale signs that the Hemulen is awake. Luckily, all the lights are off, and the quietness can only be attributed to the fact that she is more than likely to be asleep. He nods to himself, and tiptoes softly down the hall, padding down the stairs with the utmost urgency, silently glad that the Hemulen was so good on her upkeep of the house. No squeaky boards to give away any hint that he may be wandering the house so late at night. For a moment, he hesitates between picking either the front or back door. The front door is the faster route, as it is literally just to the right of him, whereas the back door requires him to sneak through the kitchen in order to get out. Oh, but he does so love the woods, and it would take longer to walk around the house from the front door to get to the woods-

"Snufkin?" A familiar voice calls out to him, startling him as a figure rises from her place in her favorite chair. "My little one, what are you doing up past your bedtime? You know that it is very important for growing children to get all the sleep they need."

Curses! And to think he foolishly assumed that she was in her bedroom this entire time. Nevermind that, how had he not seen her? His eyesight is surprisingly good at night, and to have missed seeing the Hemulen seated so clearly right there made his mind fumble at notion.

"I, um." And a fumbling mind makes it difficult for him to form any sort of response.

"You?" The Hemulen steps closer, looking over him as her eyes settle on his pack.

"I." He didn't want this. He wanted to leave under the cover of night, to avoid having to confront the Hemulen, to avoid telling her how staying here kills him inside everyday, this feeling of being trapped and rooted in a spot when he'd very much like to float as freely as a petal in the wind. But more than anything, he wanted to avoid saying goodbye, and seeing her face crumple when she realizes that she can't keep him here. But his mind fumbles for the right words to say, and he stands there, looking down at his boots as the words escape him second by second. "I just, um. I wanted..."

"You're leaving." The words come out more calmly than he had expected from the Hemulen. He looks up at her with wide eyes, his hand tightening on the strap of his pack. Her familiar, sad smile is back on her face, with eyes too understanding that it hurts to look at her. "Yes, of course."

His words, where are his words?

The Hemulen gestures for him to come sit with her, but not in her favorite chair. No, she sits down on the couch he would curl up on when he was younger, sleeping and ignoring her chides when she told him that he had a perfectly good bed upstairs to sleep on. The memory settles in his mind as he follows her lead, leaving the pack on the floor as he sits next to her. For a moment, neither of them can speak a word. An owl hoots from beyond the front door, and Snufkin hears a hint of melancholy in it. A lonely hoot with no one to return its cry.

The Hemulen speaks, her voice even and soft as she stares off into the distance. "To think this day would come sooner rather than later. I thought that, perhaps, I would be prepared for it when it comes. But today is that day, and I can't find it in myself to really accept it just yet."

Snufkin grips his pants, little claws digging into his leg as he struggles to find the words for a response. "I... um. How did- why did, why were you expecting this to happen?"

She laughs, the emptiness of it ringing loudly through the house. "Oh my sweet child, even before I knew you were a snufkin, I knew fairly well that you were a mumrik. And all mumriks are travelers at heart, moving from one place to another. It's just in their nature. Rare is it to find a mumrik who is content in staying in one place for the rest of their life." A soft sigh escapes her as she slumps back against the couch, closing her eyes as she continues. "But no, not only are you a mumrik, but you're a snufkin at that. And snufkins, notoriously, do not get along well with many hemulens. It only makes sense, really, that you'd want to get as far away from here as possible, no matter how much I want otherwise." She opens her eyes, staring up at the ceiling with a gaze so tired it makes him ache. "It's simply in your nature."

"...No!" His sudden exclamation startles both him and the Hemulen, her eyes finally drifting over to look at him as he fidgets with the fabric of his coat. "It's... I'm not leaving because I, um, don't like you. That's not- that's not true, even if I'm a snufkin." He thinks back to when she tried to explain what he was, and how despite everything, he was still him, even if he shared his name with so many other creatures like him. "I'm a snufkin, but I'm also Snufkin. Maybe I don't get along with many hemulens, but I get along with you!" He becomes genuine, earnest even as he looks up to meet her brown eyes. "You're really nice, and make really good pies! Even though you have a lot rules, you don't get really mad like the other hemulens do when I break them. You took care of me, even when you could have dropped me off at the orphanage, and you. You..." For a moment, time pauses as he struggles to accept what he wanted to deny for so long. Except... did he really want to deny it? Why did he want to deny it? In hopes of parents that never came back for him? For a stubbornness to be contrary, to continue trying to do the opposite of what the Hemulen asked of him?

...For what reason did he find it scary to admit a truth so simple as this? A truth that he should have accepted with open arms, only because it was right and honest. Only because it invited a tenderness that he wasn't ready to accept as his own because of what others had said about them.

But she looks at him, with her brown eyes that remind him of the soil that nurtures flowers and plants. It reminds him of the soft forest floor, the way his toes curl into it with relish as he runs wild in the forest. It reminds him of the bark of the trees, so fun to climb, and so solid and sturdy that he couldn't possibly stop himself from leaning against them for a quick rest.

He looks at her, and the only word that truly comes to mind is "mamma".

If what she said was true, that hemulens and snufkins don't get along, then what did it say about them if a hemulen managed to raise a snufkin that loved her as much as she loved him? A hemulen who wore softer hues than anyone else in her entire town, and a snufkin who lived a rather peaceful life with a hemulen with little strife between them.

He leans against her, resting his head against her arm.

"You're Hemulenmamma."

She takes in a sharp breath, a soft "oh" escaping her as her arm moves to wrap itself around him. "...I'm Hemulenmamma."

He rubs his face against her. "I'm sorry I wouldn't say it sooner. I was... scared."

"No," she says softly, as she gently pulls him into her lap for a hug. "No, I understand, my dear. My dear, lovely Snufkin."

He laughs against her, but it's wet and comes out in hiccups. "You're a very nice Hemulen."

"And you're a very sweet Snufkin." She hums as she rests her snout on top of his head, as she is wont to do. "...What an odd pair we make. Perhaps I'm not completely hemulen, and you're not completely snufkin."

"So then, what are we?"

"Something quite hemulen, but not quite hemulen. Something quite snufkin, but not quite snufkin. Perhaps mixes of something else." She pulls back to give Snufkin a good, hard look before wiping his tears away. "But I do prefer being called the Hemulen."

"Hemulenmamma," he corrects. "And I much like being called Snufkin."

"Yes." She smiles as she rubs her snout against her adopted son's cheek. "My little Snufkin. We're both different from the others in just the right ways."

He leans back in to rub his cheek against hers, and they sit there like that until the dread settles back into his system.

The pack is heavy reminder of what he originally set out to do, and now, saying goodbye to his Hemulenmamma is more difficult to do than ever. However, his Hemulenmamma is a step ahead of him, already pulling him off her lap and setting him gently on the floor. As he brings the pack back over his shoulder, she rifles through her pockets and pulls an old, polished mouth organ and places it in his hands. It's heavy and smooth, an old thing that has been lovingly taken care of. He didn't take her for one to make music, but then again, perhaps he underestimated the extent of how much of a hemulen she chooses to act upon.

"It used to be my pappa's, or at least, that's what I was told," she muses out loud, placing her paw on top of his head to ruffle his hair. "I never truly met my pappa, but he left this behind for my brother and I. My brother thought that it made too much of a ruckus to really make any music, and I could never figure out how to play it properly. I suppose my snout is too big for this mouth organ." He giggles at her words, and her smile only grows fonder. "It would be a waste to keep it to myself. So I thought that, perhaps, this mouth organ would do much better in your hands. What do you think?"

He turns the mouth organ around in his hands, admiring the shiny, silver metal and the wooden mouthpiece. There's clear wear from where it's been held many times before, but the mouth piece has been carefully cleaned and maintained. He puts the instrument up to his lips and blows lightly, listening to the notes that play softly. There's no real tune that results from the random placement of his mouth, but a part of him sings along with the light, wispy tones of the mouth organ. Hemulenmamma waits patiently as he plays around with the instrument, the disconnected notes drifting lazily around them and the house. He puts down the mouth organ and slips it into his pocket, utterly satisfied with his inspection.

"I think it's very nice."

"I'm very glad you think so."

For a moment, neither of them say a word. The pack shifts awkwardly on his shoulder, the reminder of a goodbye that still fails to leave his tongue adds more weight to his already heavy shoulders. However, his Hemulenmamma is a rather good mamma. She smiles, in that knowing way that only mammas know how to do, and she takes his hand, leading him towards the kitchen and out the back door, and the two of them face the forest together, before her paw squeezes his hand and lets go.

"Goodbyes are always so dreadful." She speaks into the open air, and her voice wavers slightly. "They always have a hint of finality to them. Do you ever wonder why that's so?"

He sniffles softly, and wipes his eyes on his sleeves. "A little bit. I don't think I like goodbyes all that much."

"No, I don't think I like them all that much either." She kneels down to his level, adjusting the strap on his pack and straightening out his coat. "But sometimes they are necessary."

It takes no hesitation for him to wrap his arms around Hemulenmamma, and she returns his hug with just as much gusto. "I'll miss you." He whispers it into her ear, not trusting his voice to hold if he speaks at his normal level. "I'll really miss you. I mean it."

"Of course you do, my sweetheart." She brushes her snout against his cheek, before lifting a paw to wipe his tears away. "I'll miss you too."

Farewells have that touch of finality that one never really wants, or enjoys, when parting from someone they love. To say goodbye shouldn't imply that they'll never meet again, and yet it rings such a melancholy tone when it leaves a tongue that it brings about that certain, distinct sadness that one can never truly avoid.

That is...

If he were to never return.

"I don't want to say goodbye," he decides, a determined look settled on his face. "Because..." He thinks back to her book with the pressed flowers, his flowers, that she keeps in a special spot in her bookcase. "...because I'll come back. With flowers. Flowers for you and your book." He remembers her stories, the ones that fill her bookshelf with tales of faraway lands and charismatic characters. "And I'll have stories to tell you, about my journeys and the creatures I meet. I'll tell you about all the new things I learned while I was out exploring the world. And." He remembers the mouth organ, heavy in his pocket. "And I'll show you how good I'll become at playing the mouth organ, and all the new songs I make. And then." He pauses, looking into her brown, warm eyes that remind him of the familiar woods, open and ready to give him what he needs, ready to love him as he is. "And then, I won't have to say goodbye. Because I'll come back. And we won't have to say goodbye, but rather, 'til we meet again."

And those brown, warm eyes soften as they are wont to do, her own tears welling up in those familiar corners that crinkle with her smiles. "Of course, my dear. I'll be waiting for your flowers, and your tales and songs." She ruffles his hair with a tenderness she has practiced all these years, with an understanding patience that only a mamma could possibly have. "I'll wait for however long it takes, so take your time, my dear." Her smile is soft, but it no longer holds that sadness he was expecting to remain. Love seems to be the only thing she can convey now. "Until we meet again."

They hug one more hug, before pulling away. Hemulenmamma stands up, dusting off her lavender dress, and Snufkin adjusts his pack one last time, until it feels lighter than before. She stays where she stands as he walks away into the forest, and he turns once to wave to her. She waves back, and continues to wave even as he walks deeper into the forest. He turns back again, and her lavender dress is but a speck in the distance. Nonetheless, he waves again, for he knows that she still waves to him, even if they can hardly see each other.

For he is her child, and she will continue to wave until he is truly out of sight.

It only takes Snufkin a few days of traveling on his own to realize that, perhaps, he had underestimated his abilities to wander by himself. Instincts, he realizes, can only take him so far on a journey before he runs out of fruit to eat, or when the brisk fall winds start to chill him to his core, and there is no warm shelter to be found.

For the first time in his life, he finds himself miserable out in the woods.

He huddles underneath the branches of a tree, trying to warm himself with what layers of clothes he has. His stomach protests from the lack of food, and he briefly finds himself reminiscing of Hemulenmamma's fish stew, before he shakes the thought out of his mind bitterly.

Perhaps he should have prepared himself with more things. Or more knowledge. A fire would be nice right about now.

If only he had the foresight to learn that skill before setting off, blindly chasing his wanderlust and want for solitude.

"Oh Snufkin," he mumbles to himself, "what are you to do?"

Something above him makes the leaves shake and fall atop his head. Birds, he thinks, as he brushes the leaves out of his hair.

"...Well, well, well."

Snufkin freezes, his hand still atop his head.

Birds don't usually speak.

He looks up and meets a pair of cold, icy eyes, and a sharp, toothy grin. The stranger peers down from the branch he is curled up on and speaks again.

"And what is a child like yourself doing out here all alone?"