A lot of things happened at once as the blaring music suddenly flooded the tent and rudely awakened its occupants. For starters, the first thing Handy was aware of, aside from the thunderous headache that was, aided by the too-loud music, splitting his head apart like the hand of God shattering the firmament, was an errant wing smacking him in the face and knocking him back on his arse seconds after he had untangled himself from his covers and got to his knees. The others did not fare much better. He saw a small bundle of blankets in one corner that seemed to be having an apoplectic fit and was cursing up a storm. Crimson, he realised. The pony had become entangled and was busy trying to escape her blankety prison. Meanwhile, Shortbeak had bolted upright and her, frankly, monstrous wingspan shot out wide in instinctive fear-response, knocking Handy over and pinning a confused Tanismore to the tent wall.