"Moomin, you did it!"

Moomin heard the voice as if from underwater. There was a tinny buzzing in his ears and images were coursing through his mind. The smaller, slighter body had fallen away from him and lay heaving on the floor. He struggled to his knees with the help of Little My and his eyes focused on the scene before him; Little My crouched beside him, looking at him anxiously, his parents kneeling close by, and between them on the floor, Snufkin.

Snufkin was on his hands and knees like a cat, coughing and gasping. The sound scraped on Moomin's ears. Finally he collapsed and lay on his side clutching his stomach and shivering, his eyes closed, his face grey and sweaty. Moomin reached out to him tentatively- Papa said sharply,

"Don't touch him, Moomin!", clearly afraid that Snufkin's bare skin would freeze his son once more.

"It's okay," said Moomin quietly. He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain that the Groke's curse had lifted and Snufkin couldn't hurt him anymore. He placed a paw on Snufkin's cold, damp shoulder, and nothing happened except he felt his friend shivering uncontrollably beneath his touch. "It's okay," Moomin said again. "See?"

"You did it, Moomin," Little My whispered. "You saved Snufkin."

Moominmamma was gazing at her son with an apologetic look on her face. "My dear, I need to make up a poultice for Snuf and then once we've put him to bed I'll see to your chest. We've got to warm him up."

Moomin nodded, knowing that Snufkin's situation was far more dire that his. He watched Moominmamma clamber to her feet and rush to get a tea towel. They all looked at her, confused, but they understood when she picked up the ice shard in it to avoid touching it with her bare skin. She carried it to the kitchen and dropped in it a jar.

Moomin was rubbing Snufkin's back gently- he was still cold to the touch and seemed to be having trouble breathing- it sounded uncomfortable and wheezy and he continued to shake. Moomin pulled the blankets back around Snufkin tightly and held him cradled against his own body. Snufkin's tail twitched and he rubbed against Moomin like a cat.

Moominpappa helped him carry Snufkin upstairs, Little My running ahead of them. She held open the guest bedroom door and they edged in, laying Snufkin on the bed. Even this short journey had drained him of still more colour. Moominmamma came in as they were pulling thick blankets onto the bed, watching as Snufkin slowly stopped shivering as he warmed up.

"We'll give him lots of tea, keep him nice and warm..." Mama pressed a paw gently to Snufkin's cheek. "He's burning up... no surprise... hopefully he can sweat it out."

"I'll stay with him," said Moominpapa. Moominmama nodded.

Then she turned to her son.

"Now, my little Moomintroll, come here and let me have a look at your chest."

-

The next few days passed in a panicked, pained blur for Moomin.

Whatever they did, Snufkin wouldn't wake up.

He was definitely breathing, but he now had a dangerously high fever and couldn't keep anything but liquid down. Mama helped him drink as much water and tea as she could. His breathing was ragged and swallow and he was white as a sheet. He slept in one of the spare bedrooms. Moomin lay in his own bed, his chest bandaged, staring blankly at the ceiling. The icy burns on his skin were healing well, but they sent sharp jabbing pains through his body every now and again, and he was having enough trouble sleeping as it was.

Sometimes he would creep down to Snufkin's room at night and sit beside him, listening to him struggle to breath, his heart stopping every time Snufkin feel silent between breaths, willing him to take another, then relaxing when he finally did.

After a week, while Moomin's chest was fully healed (with a very faint pink scar just visible under his fur,), bur Snufkin was still unconscious. They took it turns to sit beside him, to press cold, damp cloths to his sweltering forehead, to wipe sweat from his face, or try and help him drink. Sometimes Moomin read to him, so that if his friend were to wake up he would be surrounded by a familiar, comforting voice, and hopefully not be afraid.

At night Little My slept under Snufkin's bed and listened to his fever dreams. They frightened her. She sometimes saw Moomin come down and sit beside her brother, but she didn't say anything.

And so they waited.