"Mama, are you sure about this?"

Moominpappa wavered worriedly over Moominmamma, watching fearfully as she donned the oven gloves and reached into the jar that held the shard of ice.

"Yes, Papa, I'm positive. Hair of the dog, never fails."

She took the ice out and dropped it into a large pan.

"Now," she continued briskly, opening one of her many tome-like medicine and cook books and flicking through the pages, "let's see. I think we'll need a mixture of these medicines to put him right. Now then... common cold... no, we need something much stronger... here we are, hypothermia... okay... 'ginger root, lemon, echinacea plant'... frost bite... 'warm the patient gradually'... 'ensure the patient is in contact with a constant source of heat'..."

As she worked, Little My boiled the kettle and Moominpappa began chopping roots. They had brought Snufkin down to the fireplace again- Moominpappa had carried him down the stairs and laid him on the rug, wrapped carefully in a woollen blanket. Moomin was at his side, gently rubbing his paws in both of his own, trying to warm them up.

After the worrying thrashing and feverish incoherence Snufkin had been showing, he was now even more worriedly, deathly still and silent. His skin was a ghostly pale white-blue and his eyes were glassy. All Moomin could do was stare at him and keep his extremities as warm as he could and make sure he was still breathing and try not to cry.

Meanwhile, the big pot was slowly filled with vegetables, spices, roots, essential oils and spirits. Steam billowed out from the kitchen, and the medicine bubbles away. Moominmamma was satisfied.

"This should work," she said, spooning some of the hot mixture into a mug and turning towards Snufkin.

"Come, Moomintroll my dear, hold him up and help him drink."

Moomin did what he was asked, pinching Snufkin's nose to make him swallow. Holding Snufkin was easy. He was so light.

Moominmamma gently pressed the cup to his white lips and tipped the scowling liquid down his throat. Snufkin bucked feebly.

"Swallow, Snufkin, swallow..." Moominpappa murmured; him and Little My we're watching avidly.

Finally the cup was empty, and Snufkin's head rolled back, his whole body limp in Moomin's arms.

They all stared and waited to see if anything had changed. They waited for what seemed like an age, for the lifeless figure to move, or to blink, to do anything... And still...

Nothing did.

"What's wrong?" Little My whispered. "Why didn't it work?"

Another silence. Another wait. Then-

"He's not breathing."

It was Moomintroll, and his eyes were glistening with tears.

Moominmamma pressed her ear against Snufkin's thin chest.

"His heart has stopped..." she said, horror in her eyes.

"What?!" Little My shouted, refusing to believe it even though she could see it in front of her.

Moominpappa took off his hat and passed a paw over his eyes. "Oh Snufkin..."

"It can't be," Little My said, her voice breaking. "It can't be!"

Moominmamma took Snufkin's arm in her own paws, passing her fingers over the thin wrist, groping for a pulse.

"There's nothing," she choked. "He's gone."