a new spring tune

SNUFKIN ( MOOMINVALLEY )

It's not so much a place. It's more of a feeling, I would say.

wanderer, musician, introvert and overthinker

nuisance to any and all authority figures

doesn't believe in houses nor belongings

After spooning out around a dozen or so bowls of soup, Snufkin begins to get suspicious. Or, interested, might be a better word. He doesn't think the soup is dangerous, just mysterious. It never gets any closer to emptying. He wonders, then, if one might be able to make it any fuller. A magical soup pot, if that's what this is, might have some strong feelings about exactly how much is in it or what flavor it wants to be today.

"Excuse me."

Snufkin has to stoop a fair amount to tap the individual on the shoulder ( not so different from speaking with Little My, he thinks ). "I'm looking for somewhere... greener. I'm not sure the weather here much suits me."

It's not really the weather that drives Snufkin away from Moominvalley in the winters, not exactly, but that doesn't mean he's any less displeased to be dropped somewhere so chilly and... well, it's not all too colorful, that's the trouble. But this place is big, very big, that much he's gathered from the few other people he's stopped to speak to ( there's no better way to get your bearings when you're without a compass ). It can't all be like this.

"Look, see? Here she is. You can calm down now."

Snufkin says this very matter-of-factly to the squirrel perched upon his shoulder, gently redirecting its paws ( for the fifth time ) when it tries to scratch at the brim of his hat. He gestures towards the girl standing amongst the trees, and the squirrel scurries down his arm as he crouches to let it run over towards her. When he straightens up again, his conversation is directed towards the person rather than the animal.

They've given Snufkin a house.

The gesture is perhaps intended to be nice. It's empty, after all, and very quiet, but if Snufkin is going to stay in a house it at least shouldn't be a lonely one. Otherwise, there's no reason to be there at all. He's certainly not going to sleep in one.

But outdoors isn't much better, he's afraid. Not here. The streets are too paved, the buildings a little too close together. He arrived with nothing - well, almost nothing; the weight of his harmonica in his pocket is comforting and familiar - and he's grateful for that. There's nothing he needs to prepare before he leaves in search of greener pastures.

He gets only one house down on his journey. When the adjacent building's door swings open, Snufkin stares at the occupant that steps out of it for a moment, who has fantastic taste in hatwear and is approximately Snufkin's own height ( he hasn't met many of the other residents of here, wherever this here happens to be, but all of them were so much taller ). He pinches the brim of his own hat in greeting.