You hold the tears back and tell the crowd about your legendary sighting. When you get to the part about its worth, everypony starts to look around frantically. You get ready to blame somepony for pushing you and then run away crying when the pony you were going to blame helps you up. It’s an old foalhood friend of yours. She escorts you away from the crowd, savvy to your misdirective ways, and hoofs you a peppermint stick. Before asking how you really are.

It’s been a while since you two spoke. A year or so at least. Nothing bad happened to drive you away. Time just has a way of slipping by.

Your nose is still bleeding.