@autumnoxtra
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.
"Oh, hello." They're neighbors, for this one brief instant before Snufkin departs. There's no sense in being rude. "You don't happen to have a tent, do you? I fear I've misplaced mine."
