Little My Rainbow

       Little My left the beach early, telling herself she didn’t want to miss Moominmamma’s lunch. She slowed her pace in the forest, claiming the cool green shade was too pleasant to hurry through. When she veered off the main path onto a narrow deer track, she offered no justification—since when did she answer to herself? Another turn, then another, her neck craning. Green-on-green was hopeless camouflage to spot, so she scanned for flashes of white instead. Being tiny was bloody inconvenient sometimes. The summer grass stood waist-high (for a common-sized creature, meaning ‘over the top’ for Little My), blocking her view. In a fit of pique, she kicked an oak. An acorn bonked her head. Above, a familiar Squirrel gazed down with his idiotically cheerful muzzle and absurdly fluffy tail. Hmm. If you’re small, go high. Little My scaled the trunk via bracket fungi, nimble as a squirrel herself—advantage reclaimed. The Squirrel, predictably, scampered after. The first white blotch spotted from the branches turned out to be a mushroom. The second, a cluster of bedstraw flowers. The third— Moomintroll. He glowed on a sunlit log like some besotted lighthouse, chatting animatedly to someone just beyond the light. There, nearly invisible in dappled shadow: a green frock, a wide hat. Snufkin. His face was turned away, his replies too quiet to catch—only the occasional tremor of his shoulders betrayed laughter. Then— Were they holding hands? Little My shimmied along the branch for a better angle. No luck. Then Moomintroll leaned in, vanishing briefly behind Snufkin’s hat brim. When he pulled back, his expression was the sort usually reserved for Moominmamma’s strawberry cake. He dipped close again, one white paw stark against green fabric, Snufkin’s fingers tangled in the fur behind Moomintroll’s ear— A questioning chk sounded beside her. Little My jerked, nearly toppling before locking herself around the branch. The Squirrel stared, head tilted with infuriating innocence. You moron! Snufkin would notice— She crab-walked to the trunk, shielded by foliage, and attempted to strangle the creature into silence. Instead, she lost her balance and plunged into a hollow. "You brainless furball," she hissed as the Squirrel peered in, eyes round with the same dopey adoration Moomintroll had worn moments ago. And how had Snufkin looked at him? "Ugh, what am I doing?" She ought to be cackling, storing this intel for future torment material. Yet the same stifling anger from earlier smouldered in her chest—thicker now, greener, like crushed nettles under skin. "Oh girl," Little My muttered to the mossy hollow. "You’re a mess."