#witchs-garden

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Snufkin pulled his coat closer around him, staring down the familiar winding path that lead up to the lonely mountains and beyond. His paws were numb with cold and his breath came out white as the snow around him, but he was smiling. The first day of winter was almost as important to him as the first day of spring, as it was this day he reuinited with another old friend; the road.

He had already packed up his tent and written his letter to Moomintroll, which he’d placed it in the letter box by the bridge as usual. With that Moomin and the valley had completely left the Mumrik’s mind, and he started his long journey down the path.

He walked for a full day, hypnotised by all the quiet noises from the icy dirt crunching beneath his boots to the patter of snow falling from tree branches. It was easy to envision himself as the only person in the whole world, but even the peace that came with that thought didn’t keep him from growing tired and hungry.

The mumrik was grateful when he spied a steady stream of smoke rising up from the trees. Somebody had lit a fire! Wonderful timing, too, as it had gotten too dark for him to set up his own camp.

So he set his feet in the direction of the smoke’s source, hoping whoever he found to be there was feeling generous.

“Hullo! Hullo!” Snufkin called out as he pushed a branch to the side and stepped out from amongst the trees, “Anyone here?”

The sight of a cosy log cabin greeted him, and indeed a spire of smoke drifted up out of the chimney. Thinking himself quite foolish for expecting a campfire instead of a house, Snufkin nonetheless went up to the door and knocked loudly but politely.