He woke up with a start, jumping to his hooves as his accordion cutie mark performed multiple two and a half octave runs. To his right, he heard a simultaneous gasp from Pinkie Pie. At first, he thought he’d woken her up, and then he realized she was also on all four hooves, twitching and convulsing.

“Twitchy tail, floppy ears, knee shakes, right front hoof—Cheesie, it’s something bad! Something really, really, really bad!” she gasped. She began to dart erratically, first in one direction, then another, looking under rocks and tufts of grass, as though they held some kind of answer, while Gummy remained fastened stoically to her mane.

He tried to shake the muscle spasms out of his neck, but now his knees were wobbling. “Wait, what? I’m getting a party. A big party.” Definitely a party, and there were things he was going to need, and something that would tell him what kind of wingding, hoedown, hootenanny or shindig this one was supposed to be, because he honestly had no idea. He started wildly going through everything he could think of with both front legs, tossing it all over his head with a plonk. Fire extinguisher? Banana peels? Inflatable whale? Streamers, whipped cream, moose antlers, stethoscope, sousaphone, hamsters—no, no, and no. Hats! Fruit hat, porkpie, trilby, mortarboard—no, no, no, no. Greasepaint. Greasepaint? Pinkie darted back next to him, watching the stream of stuff he was pulling apparently from nowhere. She must be very distressed, because she didn’t show any sign of wanting to play with any of it or to see if it worked. She just bounced in place anxiously.

“Is it a doozy?”

Clank clank clank. “Something epic. But you say you’re getting something bad.”

“It’s really, really, really bad, Cheesie, but I don’t know what it is,” she keened, rocking back and forth and hugging her tail. “I’ve only maybe felt it once before, and I don’t remember what it was.”

“Something really bad, and an epic party? That doesn’t make sense.” He began to stow everything as quickly as he’d pulled it out, grabbing it with both front legs and his tail. Greasepaint? Why greasepaint? "I know I’m supposed to go that way,” he added, waving at a range of poplar-covered hills in the distance. I have to go that way. I don’t have a choice.

“Me too, me too, me too!” Pinkie darted over and bounced onto his head, trying to see better. “What’s over that way?”

He shaded his eyes with one hoof, the old steely calm settling over him. “Mane-tua. Ponyacci’s home village. It’s the only town in that direction.”

A pink streak was already receding into the distance. He had to gallop to catch up with her. “Pinkie, slow down!” He was galloping so fast that the wind was smarting his eyes and making them tear up, and still she was moving so quickly that he could barely see her on the horizon. She stopped so abruptly that the momentum carried him past her into a wild skid, sliding on his haunches and hooves blurring, and he had to double back. She was twisting some balloons together. Just as he reached her, she let them go, watching them being taken by the wind and disappearing into white, puffy clouds.

“There’s no hurry now,” she said quietly, sitting absolutely still. His accordion mark gave two loud, insistent runs, and his left hind leg kicked out like a piston, propelling him straight up and trying to get him started.

It took all his willpower to fight it long enough to blurt as he trotted in place, “No, Pinkie, now it’s urgent. Gotta go.”

He broke into a speed trot, because the truth was that he only tried to look cool once he got somewhere. On the way, he moved as quickly as he could. The only thing that mattered was getting to that wingding, hoedown, hootenanny or shindig right this second, because you could not afford to let things start without you once it was go time. Every gig was the gig, but this really was going to be the show of a lifetime, the show of shows, the sky dive, the cake topper, the one to end it all. Of course she was going to be there, of course, because it all made sense in his gut in a way his brain didn’t have time to understand. That was why he didn’t have to look back to know that she was right behind him, speeding like a pink rocket.

He paid no attention as they moved out of scrub desert and headed uphill on a narrow path. He barely noticed the switchbacks as the terrain became wooded and mountainous. All that mattered was getting there and getting there now.

The trees began to fall away, revealing broad, golden open fields and whitewashed walls in the distance, to which they were getting closer. “Almost there,” he called over his shoulder. He slowed to allow her to catch up, which she did, puffing and blowing.

“Oh”—gasp—“good”—gasp—“where’s there? Is it here?”

He stopped for a moment, scratching his mane with one hoof as he squinted at the little walled town in front of them. “Yes. No. At least, it is, and I can feel it’s the right place to be. It looks like Mane-tua, but it doesn’t. Usually you can see flags flying, and the gates should be open at this time of day. Everything’s wrong somehow.”

She sat down next to him. “Did – did you say this was Ponyacci’s home village?” she said, her voice flat. He nodded emphatically.

“It is, and that’s why I can’t understand it. I’ve been here at least half a dozen times. The sound is wrong, too, because, well—because there isn’t any.” He rose to his feet, shaking his head. “It’s all wrong, and I’m supposed to be here anyway. Cheesy Sense never lies.”

As they approached the little village, two stallions pushed the gates open. A third stallion, green with a blue mane, moved listlessly towards them, a noisemaker drooping from his lip. He raised his head sharply to see who it was, then sighed with relief.

“Is that Cheese Sandwich? We knew you’d come. We knew you’d have to come.”

“Pickle Barrel? What’s happened? Where’s Ponyacci? What in Equestria is going on?”

The green stallion sat down slowly, not even noticing that there was a stranger with them.

“We knew you’d have to come, Cheese, but I guess I figured that you’d already know. Dad died this morning.”