Snufkin neared the forest a few miles from Moominvalley as the sun began to rise. Once again, he dimly registered that in his usual state he would have basked in this beautiful scene: the first rays of sunlight filtering over the tops of mountains and through the canopy of leaves above him. However the ache in his side had considerably worsened on the homeward journey, and his cough kept him hunched over as he walked.

When he was about half a days walk from Moominhouse, Snufkin saw two Earth worms slither past. They were wearing hats: their Sunday best.

Sunday.

Something deep in Snufkin's frozen subconscious stirred. Wasn't there something he always did on a Sunday? What was it?

He walked a little further, watching the little beasts meander past, going about their day. He saw a small furry person that reminded him of something.

After racking his brains for a further few minutes, suddenly he remembered- the woodie children! They had given him raspberry leaves to smoke on Sunday!

He didn't know why, but it seemed essential to Snufkin that he must uphold this tradition again. Perhaps it would bring an inch of normality into his situation, and keep the fear at bay. Reaching into his pocket with shaking fingers he drew out his pipe, matches and small bag of raspberry leaves. He tried to fill his pipe but his hands were shaking so badly that he dropped a lot of them.

He couldn't light a match.

He tried to steady his hands, but they wouldn't obey... Snufkin began to cry, and the tears froze on his cheeks, his whole body shook and ached. He dropped the matches on the frosty ground, bent a little to try and pick them up, stumbled, and dropped his pipe.

He stopped.

Wait... why was the ground frosty? The first day of spring had past. (Snufkin felt guilty about being late to Moominvalley but... what could he do?)

He looked down at his feet. His boots were covered in a thick layer of ice. Where ever he stepped he left the ground frozen and hard. Plants wilted at his touch.

Just like the Groke.

He was crying harder than ever now.

Stupid.

Stupid stupid stupid!

Snufkin looked up, tears spilling down his cheeks, and wondered if the Moomins even want him back like this.

-

"Hello, what's this?" Little My bent down and picked something up from the grass. "Hey, Moomin," she called. "Smell this!"

Moomintroll looked down at it. It was a small, dusty, blush coloured flower. He gave it a tentative sniff- because knowing Little My it could be a dreadful prank. But his eyes widened as he smelt the familiar scent.

"Recognise it?" Little My asked.

"Of course!" Exclaimed Moomintroll. "That's a raspberry leaf; the very same that Snufkin's woodie children gave to him to smoke on Sundays! I could never forget that smell."

"I knew it!" Shouted Little My. "That means that Snufkin can't be far away!"

They continued on through the wood, the sky darkening above the canopy of thick trees all around them.

Presently they came across Snufkin's pipe, too, abandoned in the flowers. They were dead and wilted, dusted with frost.

"Strange..." Moomin stared at them.

"But Snufkin never leaves his pipe," said Little My uneasily. Moomintroll sniffed it and smelled the same raspberry tobacco.

"It's the same," he said. "The same as what he smokes on Sunday. But it's Wednesday... That means he's been away from his pipe for three days..."

"He won't like that!" Little My said.

-

Well, he had to at least try and get back to Moominvalley.

Snufkin forced himself to his feet with a groan and stumbled onwards, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him.

-

"Little My, I'm starting to get worried," Moomin confessed.

"Don't worry, we'll find him," said Little My bolsteringly, although she felt a bit anxious too. They may very find Snufkin, but what if he was hurt? Or didn't want to be found? What had made him part from his pipe? Perhaps he hadn't had a choice.

And so they continued on, as the sky steadily blackened and the air got cooler.

"Is it me," said Moomintroll after a while, watching his breath cloud before his nose, "or has it got very cold very quickly?"

"You're right," said Little My through chattering teeth. "Look! The ground's all frozen."

There was a thick glittering frost on each individual blade of grass and every petal, and the ground was icy and slippery.

"How odd..." Moomin mused.

-

Perhaps if he just sat down for a moment? He could see Moominhouse; he wasn't very far from home at all, and a little rest would allow him to arrive refreshed. The Moomins wouldn't want to see him like this, he was a wreck! He he just sat and caught his breath for a minute, he'd feel much better.

Snufkin dropped to the ground.

He didn't think he would have been able to carry on anyway. His limbs were seizing up. His breath came in short rapid bursts and clouded in the air before him.

Unawares to Snufkin, a white cloud has formed over him, summoned by his icy temperament. Flakes began to dance around his still body on the floor.

The snow that built up around him felt like a thick warm blanket. The ache in his sore bones disappeared, his head cleared, the hurt in his throat lessened.

At last.

Now he could rest.

Now he knew nothing.