Moomin and Snufkin looked at each other for a moment, not saying anything. What had happened seemed to stretch between them.

Snufkin wanted to say how thankful he was that Moomin had found him. He could tell from the shadows under Moomin's eyes how his friend hadn't been getting much sleep. He wanted to say that he was sorry to have caused worry. But he was afraid of confronting how close of a call it had been, and how lucky he was that Moomin had found him... because that made it real. And he didn't want to think about what might have happened if he had been left in the snow.

He was also embarrassed by how much trouble he had caused the Moomin household.

The next few weeks passed in much of the same way; Snufkin drifted in and out of sleep, eating very little, drinking gallons of soup and hot tea. His fever went away and a little colour returned to his cheeks. He even went on short walks around the garden, clinging embarrassed to Moominpappa's arm, to build up his strength.

He thought he was getting better. Everyone did.

But there was just one problem.

While the ghostly white veins that had stung Moomin so badly were gone, the shooting pain was coming back. Numb at first, but definitely there. It began as a dull ache and grew into a sharp jolts of hot agony that ran over his body. His head no longer ached, his breathing was easier and his chest clearer, but the stabbing pain radiating from his side had returned with a vengeance.

A couple of weeks after Moomin had found him, Snufkin was sitting up in bed with a cup of soup in his paws, talking in hushed voices with his friend.

Snufkin was starting to feel woozy again. He shivered, despite the warmth of the room and the bed, and the hot soup.

That's when a shot of pain wracked through his body.

And it wasn't just his sore limbs or his pounding feverish head, as he had had for the past weeks but had lessened slightly recently. This was the stabbing pain he was all too familiar with.

Moomintroll didn't miss the flash of pain which crosses Snufkin's face.

"What's wrong?" He asked at once.

"Nothing," Snufkin said, putting a trembling paw to his side where there was a small, pearly scar stretching over the place where the Groke had touched him last Autumn, where the shard of ice had been imbedded. "Just... still a bit sore."

Moomin nodded sympathetically, and seemed to gauge from Snufkin's manner that he wasn't keen on discussing it any further.

They went back their previous conversation until a second wave hit Snufkin, this one harder, sharper, stronger. He couldn't help it- he gasped.

"Snufkin!"

Moomin's eyes were wide and anxious. "What can I do to help? Where does it hurt?"

Snufkin felt his eyes sting with hot tears, but if he pressed a paw to the scar, he could muffle the pain.

"I'm okay-" he said shakily. "Really, Moomin. Please- carry on."

How he longed to sleep, to escape the pain he felt all over his body. He was finding it difficult to keep a hold of any coherent thought, but he was determined to continue his conversation with Moomintroll.

"Are you sure?" Moomin asked.

Snufkin nodded, breathing deeply to control the hot waves of agony.

"Here," Moomin said abruptly. "Perhaps you should have some more soup. You need to eat to get your strength up if you want to recover."

Snufkin nodded again and obediently took a sip. His mind was swimming. The corners of his vision were starting to blot a little and his head was growing heavy.

Moomin was speaking, but it sounded to Snufkin like he was talking to him from the opposite end of a long tunnel. He wanted to reply, but his tongue was too heavy. He felt a swooping feeling in his stomach, a wave of nausea rushed over him. He was boiling hot but still shivering. Suddenly the room twisted around him.

"Snufkin!" Moomin only just grabbed the mug from Snufkin's paws and stopping scolding hot soup from spilling everywhere before Snufkin dropped back into the bed, his arms going limp.

"Snufkin!" Moomin leaned forward and looked at him. He was twitching and his eyelids were fluttering madly, but he was completely unconscious. Moomin pressed a paw to his forehead- it was burning hot again. A real fever, like the one he had had all last week, if not worse.

"Mama," Moomin said, trying not to panic, still staring at Snufkin's face. Then, looking over his shoulder he shouted urgently, "Mama!"

Snufkin started shaking uncontrollably by the time Mama had clattered into the room, followed closely by Little My and Moominpappa.

"What's happening to him?" Moomin whispered, terror struck.

"It looks like he's got another fever, my darling," Moominmamma said soothingly, feeling Snufkin's face. "We need to keep him cool."

She stripped off the thick duvet and Snufkin, still unconscious, jerked and twisted on the bed, feverish and delirious.

"Oh my," Moominpappa exclaimed.

"But this happened so quickly- one minute we were talking and he was fine- the next... he was in pain, Mama, but he told me he was okay- and then..." Moomin clutched at his face worriedly.

"Don't worry sweetheart, we'll fix him. Everything will be okay," Moominmamma told him.

"But how?" Little My demanded. "He's really sick. It's not a normal illness!"

Moominpappa frowned. "What do you mean, Little My? He's got hypothermia. Fevers and being delirious are normal."

"Are you telling me that none of you noticed him throw up that shard of ice?" My exclaimed. "That's what's causing him pain. I bet it!"

They all stared at her.

"You think- you think there's still some in him?" Moomin whispered, horrified.

"No, dolt! It's all out all right, but it's not just hypothermia he's got, is it?"

"He said he was okay; but I could tell he was in pain," Moomin said slowly. "It looked like a stabbing pain; from his expression."

"What are we going to do?" Little My asked.

Moominmamma said, "I think we need to use the ice to make a medicine."