#happy spring!

Moomin grumbled-- he'd only just climbed up--but he relented and started climbing back down the tree again. It took a minute or two, during which Little My looked like she was going to pop from waiting. As he neared the bottom branches, she started shouting at him anyway.

"Wow Moomin you're slow, next time I might not even wait! What I'm about to tell you's a big secret, okay? Boy, you're lucky I decided to share! This is really special, I found it out just now!"

Moomin's eyes grew wide and he stopped climbing, paused on the last branch.

"Well what is it? What did you find out?"

Little My's smile we delighted and almost devious as she reported,

"It's about Snufkin!"

Moomin's eyes grew even bigger.

"Wh-what? A secret about Snufkin? What are you talking about?"

Little My rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Hmmm, how much should I tell you, though?"

Moomin felt himself tensing up, his grip tightening on the birch branch. Was this going to be something bad? He glowered down at her.

"Come on, Little My, don't tease me, tell me what's going on!"

Little My just laughed.

"Don't be such a spoilsport, Moomin. This is really fun for me. Anyway, Snufkin writes poetry about you and hides it in his tent."

"He-- WHAT?!" Moomin slipped off-balance, spinning his arms, and briefly scrambled to catch the branch again. He failed and went crashing down to the ground, crunching into a bush.

"Aren't you a graceful one?"

"What do you mean, Little My?! Snufkin-- he-- he doesn't even write poetry! At least not that I know of."

"Well that's 'cause it's secret, dummy!"

Moomin struggled to unstuck his fur from the pricklies in the bush.

"And how exactly do you know this?"

Little My smirked.

"Because I snuck into his tent and found it, obviously."

"Oh."

Moomin thought for a moment. He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. Little My had told him a lot of fibs, but she had also told him a lot of things that had ended up being true.

"And were they really about me?"

"Yep! You want to know what it said?"

Moomin shook his head.

"If he really is writing poems and they really are secret, that means he wants them to stay secret. I'll just go ask him about it. He can tell me if he wants to."

"Sheesh, you're way too considerate a friend, Moomin."

Moomin quirked a brow.

"I'm not really sure if I believe you, so it's partly because of that, to be honest."

"Suit yourself. Just be sure to ask him about it!"

"I'm going to right now," Moomin answered, already on his way down the path.

"Oh, can I come? I want to see his reaction!"

"I'd think you'd better not, Little My. He might not tell me if you're there."

Little My scowled.

"Uggh, that's true. Well, tell me about it later then!"

Moomin hadn't heard her, though-- he had run off as fast as his feet would carry him.

----

Moomin finally found Snufkin perched on a fence in the field to the north, next to the path they usually took for Lonely Mountain. Overjoyed, he bounded over to him, shouting.

"Snufkin! Oh, Snufkin, there you are!"

As he reached the fence, his friend dropped a fond look down upon him.

"Hi, Moomin."

Then he returned to playing his harmonica.

"Hi. Um, I had something I wanted to ask you."

Moomin rubbed the back of his head and hesitated a moment, but Snufkin simply carried on playing. So he just blurted it out.

"Little My told me you've been writing poetry."

Snufkin's music halted abruptly, ending on a few loud, soured notes. His expression didn't change, but he sat very, very still. After a few silent moments, he replied steadily,

"Did she now?"

Moomin looked away, suddenly feeling very nervous under Snufkin's undivided attention.

"Ummm, yes."

Moomin grabbed his own tail and fiddled with the tip of it, willing himself to spit the rest out.

"And I was wondering if . . . maybe . . . that is, if it's all right with you . . . well, you could read some of it sometime to me? I'm sure it's very good and I'd just love to hear it, Snufkin, and it sure would be a treat, I haven't heard any poetry in a while you know, and I had no idea that you wrote any."

After his babbling, he glanced back up. It was hard to tell what Snufkin was thinking. Of course, that was true almost any day.

"Well, I don't know, Moomin. I wouldn't exactly call it poetry. More like silly scribblings. I'm afraid you'd be pretty disappointed."

Moomin perked up, grabbing onto the fence and bouncing.

"Oh, but I'm sure it's wonderful, Snufkin! I really would love to hear it."

Snufkin smiled mildly at him,

"Why don't you ask Moominpapa to read you some poetry? I'm sure it would be much more fun to hear from a real writer. I bet he's created some wonderful epics. He could probably use the encouragement, too."

Moomin sunk down a little, sagging in disappointment.

"O-oh. Well. Yes . . . I could ask him. I might do that. But I really would like to hear what you wrote, Snufkin."

Snufkin chuckled.

"I don't need to bother you with anything so dull as that. I promise, it's nothing special."

Moomin frowned. It was the answer he expected, but it still was unhappy to hear. Why was Snufkin like this? He never seemed to understand-- to understand just how . . . wonderful he was.

"It would be special, though," Moomin muttered stubbornly,

"Just because it came from you."

Snufkin stared at him for a little while, before a smile lit upon his features and seemed to warm his entire face, his auburn eyes glowing softly.

"Thank you, Moomin. I'll make you a deal. If I ever write anything I think is worth reading out loud, I'll be sure to let you know first. All right?"

Moomin's eyes grew wide.

"Really? Do you promise? That's wonderful! Oh, I can't wait!"

Snufkin chuckled again,

"Just realize that day might take quite a while to come. Excuse me a moment, my friend, I have to check on something."

----

Little My yelped as the world went spinning, a strong grip seizing her by the back of her shirt and yanking her skyward. She kicked and swung her fists about.

"Let go! Let go, I'll fight you!"

"All right, Little My. Where'd you put it?"

Little My crossed her arms as Snufkin brought her up to his eye level, glaring at her.

"Oh, it's you. What's up, Snufkin? You look worried about something."

"Where'd you put it?" he repeated, his voice sounding almost dangerously calm.

"Where'd I put what? I have no idea what you're talking about," Little My answered, grinning openly at him.

He sighed.

"So it's blackmail then, is it? What is it that you want? Gold coins? An exquisite banquet held in your honor?"

"Wow. That poem's really worth a lot to you, isn't it?"

Snufkin narrowed his eyes at her.

"Only because I know you'll make a great big fuss over nothing."

She laughed.

"Nothing?"

"Yes."

Her grin became even smarmier. She clasped her hands together and wore a sappy expression, gushing dramatically:

"Even now I feel his presence,

Soft and pure as the first day of snow,

Winter's gentle caress upon the landscape,

Whisp'ring secrets only lovers know--"

Snufkin whapped a hand over her mouth before she could say anything more.

"Cut that out," he hissed, looking ten different kinds of horrified. Little My squirmed and bit at his hand, so he dropped her unceremoniously to the ground.

"Nothing, huh?" she repeated from the ground, smirking up at him.

"Little My . . . please."

"Oh, relax," she groused, getting up and dusting her clothes off.

"I don't want to blackmail you for money or nothing. There's only one thing I want."

He crossed his arms.

"And what's that?"

She pointed at him.

"If I give the poem back you've gotta read it to Moomin."

He frowned.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious!"

He stared. Little My stared back, unflinching. After a number of moments, Snufkin seemed to realize she really was serious. He balked at her.

"I can't do that!"

"Hmmph. Would you rather I read it to him instead?"

Snufkin seemed to pale-- he almost looked sick.

"Little My . . . you wouldn't . . . oh, who am I kidding, of course you would."

He scrubbed his face with his hands a moment in exasperation before looking back up at her.

"Give me a little time, all right? It isn't finished, you know. I still need to write the end and do some editing."

Little My eyed him suspiciously.

"Some editing? You're not going to go and change the whole thing, are you? I'm not letting you get out of things that easily."

"No, nothing like that. Minor changes. I give my word."

"Hmmm. I guess that's all right . . ."

He gazed at her sternly.

"You'll give it back, then?"

Little My hesitated, but eventually came around.

". . . fine. But I'm warnin' you, no funny business-- I've got my eye on you."

She pulled something crumpled from her pocket and waved it in front of Snufkin's face. He snatched it from her, saying incredulously,

"You had it with you this entire time?!"

Little My grinned,

"Of course, I'm no dummy!"

Snufkin turned to leave, apparently more then finished with the conversation.

"Hey! I'm looking forward to your performance!" she called after his retreating form.

----

"Mooooomin! HEY, MOOMIN!"

Little My heaved an enormous sigh.

"Oh, for Pete's sake! Where's he gone off to now?"

She sat down on the foot of Moomin's bed, bouncing up and down.

"Moomin! Moomin, hurry up! Hm?"

Little My's bouncing had disturbed Moomin's pillows, and she noticed something sticking out from underneath one of them. Crawling over, she grabbed at it. They were sheets of paper.

"What's this?"

The paper was scrawled with ink in very sloppy handwriting.

Spring

He's the springtime

I close my eyes and I wait through those long, cold nights,

Waiting,

Until that first day when I can hear his song again.

Floating to my ears,

That beautiful sound, better than a million birds

I jump up and run out then,

And I throw my arms around him, and it feels like hugging spring

Wrapped up tight in soft flowers and warm sun

Butterflies dancing in my tummy.

He laughs and I want to listen to it forever,

Snufkin, oh Snufkin,

please come back soon,

bring the spring with you,

and thaw my heart,

"Oh my GOSH it just goes on and ON," Little My complained, flipping through the sheets of ink-blotched paper.

"Bla bla bla . . . it's practically a novel here! Sheesh, Moomin's writing this junk too? These guys are ridiculous."

"H-hey! Little My, what are you doing?!"

"Hm?"

Moomin rushed from the doorway into his room and grabbed the sheets of paper from her, his face red.

"Give me those, that's, those are private! Don't you know not to go snooping through people's personal stuff like that?"

Little My rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please. What're you afraid I'll find out? Everyone already knows how crazy you are about Snufkin--"

"I'm not crazy!" Moomin huffed, opening a desk drawer and stowing the sheets away inside it.

"Uh-huh. Y'know it's kind of sad, really, you two writing about each other and you won't even talk about it."

Moomin made a disgruntled sound.

"Little My, I very much doubt Snufkin's poetry has anything to do with me at all. He probably writes about all the adventures he has when he's exploring south, he's seen an awful lot of stuff, after all."

Little My stared at him a moment.

". . . just wait, Moomin."

Moomin twitched an ear.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that. Just wait. You'll see soon. Hey! I have an idea!"

She sprang up to her feet.

"Why doncha go read some of that stuff to Snufkin? Maybe it'll encourage him to share his own poetry!"

Moomin's eyes widened and he gasped.