to whisper round their old home at night.
‘Actually it’s rather pleasant,’ said Moominmamma, drawing the blanket up round her ears. ‘It’s different. You won’t have any more terrible dreams, will you?’
‘I don’t expect so. A sandwich
does
taste good in the middle of the night!’
The West Wind
MOOMINTROLL and Little My lay on their stomachs in the sun looking into the thicket. It was low and tangled; tiny angry-looking spruce trees and even smaller birches battling with the wind all their lives. They grew very close together for protection. The tops of the trees had stopped growing, but the branches held on tight to the ground wherever they could reach it.
‘Who would have thought they could be so ferocious,’ said Little My, full of admiration.
Moomintroll peeped under the thick mass of struggling trees, bent and twisted like snakes. On the ground he could see a whole carpet of creeping brown spruce twigs and needles, and above them cave-like holes of gaping darkness.
‘Look!’ he said. ‘There’s a spruce holding a little birch tree in its arms to protect it.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Little My sinisterly. ‘I think she’s strangling it. This is just the sort of forest where people get strangled. I shouldn’t be surprised if there’s somebody in there being strangled right now. Like this!’
– She threw her arms round Moomintroll’s neck and began to squeeze him.
‘Give over!’ screamed Moomintroll and shook himself loose. ‘Do you really think there’s someone in there…?’
‘You take me too literally,’ said Little My with contempt.
‘No I don’t,’ exclaimed Moomintroll. ‘It’s only that I can
see
someone sitting in there! It seems so real, but I never know if people are serious or just pulling my leg. Are you being serious?
Is
there really someone there?’
Little My laughed and got up. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said. ‘So long. I’m off to the point to take a look at that queer old fisherman. He interests me.’
After Little My had gone, Moomintroll crept a little closer to the forest and stared in, his heart beating fast. He could hear the waves breaking gently on the beach and the sun was warm on his back.
‘Of course there’s nobody there,’ thought Moomintroll angrily. ‘She just made it up. I know she’s always making things up and getting me to believe them. Next time she does it I’ll say: “Huh! Don’t be silly!” A bit superciliously, and in passing, of course. This forest isn’t dangerous, it’s just scared. Every single tree is bending backwards as though it wanted to pull
itself by the roots and run away. You can see it.’ And still angry, Moomintroll crept right into the thicket.
The sunshine disappeared and it grew cold. The branches tore at his ears and the twigs pricked him, and hollow bits of wood snapped under his paws. There was a smell of cellars and dead plants. And it was quiet, quite silent, and the noise of the sea could no longer be heard. Moomintroll thought he could hear someone breathing and he felt himself choking with panic, shut in and being strangled by the trees. He wanted terribly to get out into the sunshine again, quickly, quickly – and then he thought: ‘No. If I turn back now, I shall never dare to go in again. Little My has frightened me, that’s all. I shall say to her: “Oh, by the way, there’s nothing in the thicket at all. I looked. You were bluffing!”’
Moomintroll sneezed and crept a little further, groping between the trees. Now and again there was a crack and a tree-trunk fell to the ground, a soft, velvet-brown mass of decaying wood. The ground was like elastic and as smooth as silk, and was covered with millions of dead needles.
As he crept farther and farther in, the unpleasant shut-in feeling vanished. He just felt protected and hidden by the chilly darkness; he was a tiny little animal who was hiding and wanted to be left in peace. Suddenly he could hear the sea again and
‘Actually it’s rather pleasant,’ said Moominmamma, drawing the blanket up round her ears. ‘It’s different. You won’t have any more terrible dreams, will you?’
‘I don’t expect so. A sandwich
does
taste good in the middle of the night!’
The West Wind
MOOMINTROLL and Little My lay on their stomachs in the sun looking into the thicket. It was low and tangled; tiny angry-looking spruce trees and even smaller birches battling with the wind all their lives. They grew very close together for protection. The tops of the trees had stopped growing, but the branches held on tight to the ground wherever they could reach it.
‘Who would have thought they could be so ferocious,’ said Little My, full of admiration.
Moomintroll peeped under the thick mass of struggling trees, bent and twisted like snakes. On the ground he could see a whole carpet of creeping brown spruce twigs and needles, and above them cave-like holes of gaping darkness.
‘Look!’ he said. ‘There’s a spruce holding a little birch tree in its arms to protect it.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Little My sinisterly. ‘I think she’s strangling it. This is just the sort of forest where people get strangled. I shouldn’t be surprised if there’s somebody in there being strangled right now. Like this!’
– She threw her arms round Moomintroll’s neck and began to squeeze him.
‘Give over!’ screamed Moomintroll and shook himself loose. ‘Do you really think there’s someone in there…?’
‘You take me too literally,’ said Little My with contempt.
‘No I don’t,’ exclaimed Moomintroll. ‘It’s only that I can
see
someone sitting in there! It seems so real, but I never know if people are serious or just pulling my leg. Are you being serious?
Is
there really someone there?’
Little My laughed and got up. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said. ‘So long. I’m off to the point to take a look at that queer old fisherman. He interests me.’
After Little My had gone, Moomintroll crept a little closer to the forest and stared in, his heart beating fast. He could hear the waves breaking gently on the beach and the sun was warm on his back.
‘Of course there’s nobody there,’ thought Moomintroll angrily. ‘She just made it up. I know she’s always making things up and getting me to believe them. Next time she does it I’ll say: “Huh! Don’t be silly!” A bit superciliously, and in passing, of course. This forest isn’t dangerous, it’s just scared. Every single tree is bending backwards as though it wanted to pull
itself by the roots and run away. You can see it.’ And still angry, Moomintroll crept right into the thicket.
The sunshine disappeared and it grew cold. The branches tore at his ears and the twigs pricked him, and hollow bits of wood snapped under his paws. There was a smell of cellars and dead plants. And it was quiet, quite silent, and the noise of the sea could no longer be heard. Moomintroll thought he could hear someone breathing and he felt himself choking with panic, shut in and being strangled by the trees. He wanted terribly to get out into the sunshine again, quickly, quickly – and then he thought: ‘No. If I turn back now, I shall never dare to go in again. Little My has frightened me, that’s all. I shall say to her: “Oh, by the way, there’s nothing in the thicket at all. I looked. You were bluffing!”’
Moomintroll sneezed and crept a little further, groping between the trees. Now and again there was a crack and a tree-trunk fell to the ground, a soft, velvet-brown mass of decaying wood. The ground was like elastic and as smooth as silk, and was covered with millions of dead needles.
As he crept farther and farther in, the unpleasant shut-in feeling vanished. He just felt protected and hidden by the chilly darkness; he was a tiny little animal who was hiding and wanted to be left in peace. Suddenly he could hear the sea again and
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