Cranky looked over the contents of his suitcase one last time. He had his toothbrush, a coat for cold weather, a tie for dressy occasions, hair gel to style his mane, some bits he’d saved up, and an empty scrapbook, just in case. It wasn’t much, a meager travel bag, and he kept wondering if he was leaving something out. He’d never really traveled before, so he was sure he’d mess up somehow, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d be with Matilda.

What was more, he’d come to a decision. They’d have to see if they could get along, how compatible they were in general, but he wanted to ask her if they could be together. Be official. Even if they were just traveling together, he wanted to be able to call her his. The idea of asking her was daunting, but also exciting. After last night, he’d come to realize that the feeling of taking a leap like this wasn’t so scary after all. Sometimes things really were worth the risk.

Before he could again second guess his packing skills, Cranky shut the suitcase and hoisted it onto his back. He stepped out into the street, shutting the door of his little shack behind him, and locking it. For once, an adventure sounded pretty inviting.

The whole walk over to Matilda’s room near the palace, Cranky went through what to say, what words to use. Do it delicately, or just jump in hooves first? Wait to see what she had to say? Wait until they were already abroad? He couldn’t decide, perhaps he’d just wing it. He'd never done the 'winging it' thing before, but she seemed to like spontaneity and honesty, so perhaps that would be best. At the very least, it was bound to make her smile, and that was a worthy achievement. Before he knew it, he was at her doorstep, still unsure what to do besides knock.

Cranky took a few deep breaths, preparing to be more daring than he’d ever been before, and at last he rapped on her door with one clenched hoof. He stepped quickly back, and reached up to hastily straighten his mane one final time, then coughed to check his breath. Both were at least vaguely acceptable, so they'd have to do. He waited with building anticipation, smiling, to hear her dainty laughter or voice call from the other side of the door to invite him in.

But it didn’t come.

He knocked again, and once more stepped back to wait, but still nothing. His brow furrowed in concern, and he checked the address to be sure he had it right. This was the right room, she should be here, surely. He reached down to jiggle the doorknob, and to his surprise, he found it unlocked. A sudden sense of foreboding rose to lodge itself in his throat as he turned the knob and pushed the door inwards. It swung open with a soft, high pitched creak.

“Matilda?” he called.

No answer.

“Matilda? Are you here?” he called once more, then stepped inside. “I’m coming in, I…”

Cranky stopped in the doorway, as his eyes moved around the room, collecting pieces of a story he didn’t want to believe. The bed was made, the pillows were neat. The closet was open and empty, one wire hanger the only thing remaining inside. There were no suitcases, no sign of any life, as if the place had been neatly arranged before being vacated. There was no scent of her wafting perfume, no sign of her living there. No matter where he glanced, he could see nothing to link her to this place, nothing to confirm that she was here. No matter how he tried to retell what he was seeing in his head, the narrative stayed the same: She was gone.

The lump in his throat went solid, and he choked on it as he tried to swallow. She was gone. Gone, just like that. Had she been a dream after all? Had she been a beam of moonlight that he’d tried to hold too tightly? Last night hadn’t happened, he’d been fooling himself, the delusion of a donkey who dared to dream of faraway places that he’d never visit. He’d always been destined for failure. He’d always been destined to be alone.

Cranky sat heavily down on the floor, and stared at his own hooves. He couldn't yet put a name to the feelings he was experiencing as they fought it out inside him. There was an ache, an actual physical ache that he felt in every joint and every sinew, a confusing pain that had no exact source. At last, the victorious emotion emerged, one of a deep and unexplainable betrayal. She'd said such sweet things, offered him such kisses and opportunities as he'd never tasted before. She'd let him believe she was real and tangible, that he could hold her after the night had passed. She'd even said she thought she was in love with him, some of the best words he'd ever heard. Then she'd vanished, no word, no trace. Off to the next room in the castle, the next exciting party, now that this one was through. Worst of all, Cranky feared that he had been the only one to feel anything real between them in the first place.

To his great dismay, he realized that he'd been right all along: He never should have tried. This hurt, this pain was too much. It wasn’t worth the risk, and the risk hadn’t paid off. She’d either lied or left without a word. Maybe she’d decided she didn’t love him after all.

It was the same voice as before, but suddenly a new voice sprang up. It was one he hadn’t known he possessed, and it was loud, bossy, nosy, intruding. He couldn’t help but listen.

Whatever the reason for her leaving, didn’t he deserve to know it? She'd asked for him to go with her, and what he'd felt at that request had been genuine, no mere dream. He couldn't, wouldn't believe that she could be that heartless and cold as to do all that while feeling nothing. Had something unexpected happened to pull her away? Didn’t he deserve the chance to ask her what had happened, didn't she owe him that? Why should her disappearing act mean that he should pretend he hadn't felt a moment of genuine, real love? He was mad, hurt, but something in him still bloomed and grew. He still felt alive. That love was still there, even if she didn't return it. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to hide away. Instead, he found a sort of urgent, pushing force rising. That he had to find her.

Had he not promised to always follow her? That she would lead him to beautiful things? Hadn’t he smiled when dreaming with her of traveling to distant mountains and cities? She’d wanted him to travel, and he’d found he wanted to as well. Just because she wasn’t there, that didn’t mean he still couldn’t go. His wanderlust heart was broken, maybe, but it was still beating strong in his chest. Yes, he decided, feeling his body straighten up. That was what he would do. He would pick a spot, something out of one of his brochures, and set out to go there right this instant. Matilda couldn’t have traveled far, perhaps he’d get lucky and she’d be there, waiting for him to find. And if she wasn’t? He could ask about her, track her down, pick a new destination. Even if she was at the ends of Equestria, he’d find her.

Along the way, he could take pictures, collect experiences he’d only hoped and wished for, eat those sweet grasses, smell those unknown flowers. He could have this. He deserved this. And as he went, he could look out into crowds, scan passing faces, and perhaps eventually, maybe, she’d be there. And if she ever was, he could tell her he loved her, that he'd loved her at first sight. And he could ask why she'd left him with nothing but wanderlust and memories.

With a resigned sigh, Cranky rose and again hoisted his suitcase. There was no sense in going home, no sense in putting this off long enough for him to talk himself out of it. He had to go, had to leave this place that seemed so hollow to him now. There was nothing for him in this city anymore, and another one would at the very least be something of an adventure. If he hurried, he thought, he could get to the train station before the next express left to Manehattan. It would be a perfect place to start, a big city with plenty of excitement to attract an adventurous young jenny. With any luck, his wanderings wouldn't last too long.

There was nothing to it but to do it, he thought. There was no going back. He gave a last glance around the empty room, so sterile and dead feeling without Matilda in it, then stepped through the doorway. He turned and pulled the door shut hard behind him, and walked quickly away without ever looking back.

As the door clicked closed, the gust of air and force was enough to knock free the unnoticed note taped there. It slipped from the back of the door and fluttered quietly to the floor, where it at last rested in the fine dust beside the doorstep, where Cranky had sat only moments before. On its outside face, in scrawling cursive letters, inside of a looping heart, was one simple word.

All it said was “Doodle.”

-End-

Author's Note