His eyes opened as the sun was setting on the horizon. He stood up, frantically looking around. The events that had occurred at the apple trees suddenly came back to him. He had cried himself to sleep, and remembered why. He sat back down on the ground, on the patch of grass that his body had flattened during his unconsciousness. He remained silent and motionless until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he stood. He looked around, this time for a reason. He had to find out where he was, and get back to a place he knew – home or not. He saw no signs of civilization; a vast meadow expanded in three directions, the fourth being the tree line that he had come from. He could go there, but that wouldn’t guarantee he’d be in an area he was familiar with. He wandered around, the ground being so flat that he wouldn’t have to worry about becoming more lost. He stopped at every individual flower, at every pebble out of place, and observed it. He had no reason, and he knew that aimlessly wandering would get him nowhere, but it kept him occupied. He continued to do this until the sun was reduced to a sliver, and the light faded marking another day done. He had found a particularly padded patch of grass and decided to make that his bed. He hadn’t been awake for an hour, but he was exhausted as if he had gone days on end without a wink of sleep. He had settled in, and was about to drift back into the land of dreams when a light caught his attention from the distance. He was suddenly alert, and tried to make sense of the light. He crept closer, being careful not to be seen. This was hard, considering the lack of hills and trees that he would have used to aid in his camouflage. He approached the light and was able to make out that the light had a shape. It was no doubt a flame. A campfire, perhaps? Yes. That was it. He got closer to see exactly who was camping out in the middle of nowhere. Before he was able to make out a face, or even a body for that matter, whoever was over there yelled to him.
“Howdy, stranger!”
He immediately froze. He was still relatively far away, and in the light, there was no way he could have been seen from that distance. He turned around and was about to run, but he stopped himself before he took a step in the other direction. He was desperate for help, and there was no point hiding from somepony when there was nowhere to hide, and that pony knew he was there.
“You wanna come get warm?”
He had nothing to lose, but he was still cautious. He hadn’t spoken to a soul in years, and he wasn’t exactly comfortable striking up a conversation with somepony he didn’t know in the slightest. But more importantly, he didn’t know how this stranger would react to him. Many of his notable physical flaws had been fixed by aging, but he had no chance of making a friend. He was a terrible talker, never able to focus on a topic, and years without social interaction weren’t going to fix that. He put his worries aside and hesitantly took a step toward the mystery pony. One became two, then ten, each step less hesitant than the last. Eventually, he was at a brisk jog and stopped himself right next to the fire. He embraced its warmth, for he hadn’t had a real fire or a real heat source (other than the sun) in ages. He was entranced by the glow up close, an unpredictable yet controlled pyrotechnic display that radiated light and the warmth he had longed for. He was lost in the blaze’s beauty until the real world snuck up on him in the form of a voice.
“What are you doing all the way out here, anyway?” the stranger asked.
The green stallion said nothing and stared at the ground, his mind trying to travel, but going nowhere. He opened his mouth to speak, but he coughed. He hadn’t muttered a word in years; he hadn’t needed to. He cleared his throat, then still staring at the ground, he managed to utter “I’m lost.”
The stranger chucked. “I can see that. Where do you live?”
His only response was an empty stare.
“You know, your home?”
He let his eyes leave the ground, and he got his first look at the stranger. He was an orange earth pony stallion with his eyes a deep emerald green. He had no particularly notable features other than his curly brown mane, which though unkempt, appeared almost fashionable; and a yellow shirt, which was somewhat unusual because ponies only wore clothing on special occasions or gatherings. His cutie mark featured an accordion-shaped grilled cheese sandwich, the black keys being the grill lines. It was an odd combination, an accordion as one’s special talent was reasonable… but a sandwich?
“I don’t… I don’t have one.”
“Oh boy…” the orange stallion frowned, “This is worse than I thought.”
The youth cocked his head to the side in confusion.
“Oh, right. The name’s Cheese Sandwich: Party Pony Extraordinaire. I travel Equestria throwing parties and delivering smiles. I was on my way to Ponyville to meet up with some friends of mine and was camping here for the night.”
The young stallion still appeared confused.
“Oh, that. I have a Cheesy Sense.”
He only blinked.
“It’s a bizarre sixth sense that tells me where I need to spread smiles, and I picked you up from all the way over there. Normally, I can tell when something is happening from across Equestria, but you’re just one pony. Now enough about me. What do you call yourself?”
That question took him by surprise. It was a standard question, but he hadn’t heard it in he didn’t know how long. He paused and was speechless, despite the simplicity of the question.
“Don’t tell me you don’t have one of those either!”
He definitely had a name, but for a split second, he couldn’t remember it. He manages to respond:
“Wintergreen.”
“Mind if I call you Greenie?” Cheese Sandwich asked, “I’m gonna call you Greenie.” Wintergreen shrugged.
“Anyway,” Cheese Sandwich continued, “if I want to get to the bottom of all of this depression, I’m gonna have to know where it all started.” Wintergreen’s expression suddenly changed from one of exhaustion to one of anger.
“You can forget it. I’ve lived it all once. There’s no way I’m going to make myself live it over again.” Cheese Sandwich was shocked.
“Come on, Greenie,” Cheese Sandwich pleaded, “How bad could it really be?” That was a stupid question, and Cheese Sandwich knew it right after it left his mouth.
His response was a deadly glare. Wintergreen growled under his breath, regretting ever leaving his cold, abandoned dwelling that morning. Cheese had immediately regretted his inquiry. He stood, and walked toward his tent, which he already had pitched. He entered his temporary habitation, and emerged with a rolled up sleeping bag.
“Here,” he said, “It’s an extra. You can stay by the fire if you like, but you can take this and leave, if that’s what you want.” He set the sleeping bag on the ground next to Wintergreen and reentered his tent. He was a party pony, a bringer of smiles, and he would not rest until he had done his duty.
The next morning, Cheese Sandwich emerged to see Wintergreen asleep by the fire, wrapped in the sleeping bag like a newborn foal. It was a start, but it would take more to transform Wintergreen.
A lot more.