Black.

Everything was black.

Everything was black and he knew nothing.

He was surrounded by nothing.

And then suddenly:

Something.

What?

He wasn't sure.

It was warm, and fluttering, like a bird, and somehow, impossibly, wonderfully... familiar.

A rush of light and colour.

He was almost one year old, looking up at something.

A face.

Round, rosy, bright. But today- now- sad.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Why was she crying? It was clear that she was choking on gut wrenching sobs, but he couldn't hear anything.

He was warm. He felt safe, wrapped tightly in a soft material, placed gently in a basket.

Then there was movement. The dim light brightened and a breeze reached his cheeks. He smiled. He could see the sky. Then he could see the crying woman, getting smaller and smaller as she lowered him and the basket to the water.

Black again.

Gently floating.

"Please Snufkin..." Moomin to panted as he sprinted back to Moominhouse with Snufkin in his arms. "Hold on just a little longer. Please, stay with me."

And suddenly everything was a whirl sound.

"Mamma!" Moomin screamed as he kicked the front door open, Snufkin in his arms bridal style. "I found him!"

He was three, running in a fit of panic from the Park Keeper.

"Oh my word!" Moominmamma shrieked when she saw them. "Quickly Moomin, bring him in!"

He was five, learning how to light a fire from a small forest creature.

"Is he dead?" Moomin whispered as he watched Moominpappa examine Snufkin.

He was seven, gutting the first fish he had caught himself.

Little My was crying.

He was ten, playing his mouth organ for a group of small Earth worms.

Everyone was moving frantically. Moominpappa was heating water in a big pot on the stove, Little My building up the fire, Mama getting blankets and hot water bottled, Moomin, wearing thick gloves, was cutting the clothes off Snufkin, which were frozen solid.

He was eleven, smoking for the first time with an old man who offered him his pipe.

But Moomin's worst fears were confirmed: it wasn't enough: Snufkin did not stir even as he warmed up.

Mama looked around at them.

"We need to help him start breathing again."

He was twelve, killing his first rabbit, crying.

"Papa, help me lay him down beside the fire."

He was fourteen, and the clothes he had been found in a as baby finally fit him.

"He's so cold..."

He was fifteen, meeting Moomintroll and Sniff and Little My.

"Quickly!"

He was sixteen, cold, depressed, starving.

"Alright. Work together now."

He was seventeen, dying in the snow.

Moomin was crying too now.

He watched as his parents crouched beside Snufkin's lifeless body, both wearing thick gloves to protect them from his icy skin. His best friend lay wrapped thickly in blankets on the floor beside the fire with hot water bottles tucked in with him. He hadn't shown the slightest sign of movement since Moomin had found him. Little My clutched at Moomin, weeping quietly, no doubt guilt ridden and sick with worry for her brother. Moomin held her close and they both watched Moominmamma and Moominpappa begin chest compressions.

Mama gently lifted Snufkin's chin up and said loudly and clearly,

"Snufkin. Snufkin. Can you hear me?"

No reply.

Mama looked up at Papa and nodded. Papa placed his paws on Snufkin's bare chest and started the compressions. Mama lifted his chin again, holding his jaw firmly in one paw and pinching his nose with her other glove-clad paw, before beginning to blow into his mouth.

After thirty seconds they sat back; nothing had happened.

"No..." choked Moomin.

"Wait!" Mama said sharply.

They crowded around Snufkin and gazed down at him.

"What?" My whispered.

Snufkin's throat seemed to be convulsing very, very slightly, as though he was trying to take a breath but there was something stuck there.

"He's choking!" Little My screamed.

She was right. Snufkin's whole body undulating, his nostrils flaring, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried desperately to take a breath.

Without hesitation, ignoring his parents' yells, Moomin seized Snufkin around the waist, stood up, spun the floppy form of his best friend around so he was facing the same way as Moomin, and then grasped his paws in front of Snufkin and pulled back sharply against Snufkin's diaphragm.

He felt the icy block surge up from Snufkin's stomach as he squeezed as hard as he could. Suddenly Snufkin opened his mouth and coughed up a blazing frozen crystal about he size of a fist. Moominpappa yanked Little My out of the way as the thing fell to the floor, landing where she had been sitting, and promptly singeing a hole in the rug in front of the fireplace.

Snufkin sagged in Moomin's grip. Moomin had to lower him to the ground as quick as he could- not because he couldn't hold Snufkin's weight, as his friend was dangerously light- but because Snufkin was bare chested (Moomin had hastily wrapped a makeshift skirt of flannel pyjamas around Snufkin's waist to save his dignity when he had cut him free of his frozen clothes,), and the chill from Snufkin's skin had burned Moomin's chest. Pain was jumping across Moomin's skin, but he didn't care: Snufkin was free of the Groke's curse.