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Mumriks' entire existence as a species has always been circled around one thing - wandering, while mymbles' lives tended to be segragated on neat little spheres. Once a mymble settled down somewhere they rarely of ever left their territory. For Snufkin, a mumrik-mymble hybrid it manifested on curious ways.
When it was spring, it was always spring. Spring became its on little sphere i'm which there wasnt a time before spring, after spring and anything relating other seasons became somewhat less important than the animals and fauna coming back to life after hibernation.
Summer also became its own sphere in which the data were spend fishing and playing on the beach with others, eating fresh fruit at the moominhouse and napping under the shade.
Autumn brought orange, yellow, red and brown leaves, cooler weather and a feeling of doom in Snufkin's stomach, as while he couldnt yet comprehend a world outside of autumn, the other half of his genes was getting adamant on traveling.
And so when winter came all he knew was traveling. He forgot about moominvalley, about the warm weather and flowers there, about his friends and the beach. And as the seasons seamlessly blended into each other he was by instinct brought back to the valley like clockwork, on first day of spring.
Where he never was brought though, was Mymblemama's house. The house he supposedly was born in which if on instinct only had raised some intrigue in it. His two half sisters were born there too and they spoke fondly of the place. It must've been large if it were to fit hit other fifty or so younger siblings. He himself had only fleeting memories of the house from his youngest years, it wasnt by any means far away either. At least not literaly. He could travel there in a day or two if he so desired, it was the mental scape that set the distance.
The spheres of the seasons set next to each other made a distance. A distance of a year, two year, three years and so on. One could travel back to a place, but one could never reach an origin from when it was first seen. Just like if you were to visit a place you last saw seven years ago, you'd only see a version of it from a year ago at best. The version of the house Snufkin knew was real, but its was top far to reach by any means accesible to him or anyone he knew.
How does it work? To feel the pull towards a place that isn't as it was then, and never will be, a place that now only exists as that in your own mind. Like walking into a citadel and knowing its a replica while having been there to feel the infant years of when the original was born, or growing up hearing a lullaby from your mother only to them years later hear the same song sang by a band.
And Snufkin's gone too. That tony version of him is still at that home, with his much tinier older sisters and his much younger mother. Maybe a much younger father too if he's lucky. And its not necesarily painful, but its still the half awake feeling of dread when you feel like you've forgotten something, but no matter how much you count and check everything's in place. Maybe he lost his way home, maybe he lost himself. Maybe its too far away to find.
Maybe that's alright with him.