Diorite sighed, flipping her tail over her talons as she stared determinedly at the wall.

There was a diplomat here, from the blasted Tribe of Scorched Sands, and she wasn't particularly happy about that. She wanted Jerboa and his entire kingdom to pay for what they had done, and so far that wasn't exactly happening.

The pile of jewels in the center of the room sparkled, throwing bits of colored light on the grey-green dragoness as the sun peaked out of the clouds for a brief instant. The egg no longer sat there, it had been squirreled away to the dungeons, where it wouldn't receive the sunlight that the Tribe of Scorching Sand's eggs supposedly needed to hatch.

All in all, it seemed her problem of an egg was solved. Just a simple stuttering sentence that she didn't want to be reminded of Jerboa (which was true) to the queen, and she'd whisked it out of her sight. Forever, there it would never hatch and would sit abandoned.

"Monotropa would like to see you," came a hesitant voice from through the archway. Its speaker was light grey, speckled with darker flecks that looked a mixture of terrified and apologetic that he had to deliver her this message. His wings reflected this also, they dipped in apology and nearly brushed the ground.

Diorite sighed, nodding slowly and feeling the weight of her horns all of a sudden, as if they were telling her to rest and sleep. "Bring her in."

The messenger shuffled his feet, his talons clanking loudly on the stone floor. "Uh...she'd like you to go there."

Diorite's nostrils breathed out a plume of smoke, but she nodded slowly nevertheless. "I see..." she muttered, glancing back at the messenger suddenly to determine his rank. A simple guard was all he was, with no necklaces or jewels to indicate any trace of nobility. "Where is this diplomat?" She didn't even bother to speak the name, she never wanted to speak the name of a Tribe of Scorching Sands dragon for as long as she lived at all, with the possible exception of Jerboa when she melted his face off.

The messenger looked slightly relieved that she hadn't protested further, and gestured down the hall to his right, and Diorite's left. "T-that way. She's in the greenhouse."

Of course she is, Diorite thought with an inward snort. That was Jerboa's favorite place, too, the place that had countless jewels that reflected and intensified the sun enough to grow plants in there. The perfect place for any dragon unused to the cold and rain of the Igneous Tribe's kingdom-- even though the palace was quite warm for their region. Diorite suspected that this location had been chosen purely for that reason-- that way, any visiting diplomats wouldn't freeze.

The messenger scurried away, sensing that his job was done and not even bothering to wait for a dismissal. It wasn't like she would have even noticed that he left, anyhow, he was so far beneath her that he doubted she would even have registered his presence if he hadn't spoken.

Diorite padded through the doorway, starting down the hallway with increasing anger and fury at the messenger that tried to mess up her plan. She wanted, no she craved a war between the Tribe of Scorching Sands and the Igneous Tribe, for she was certain that her tribe would crush Jerboa's. And he would live, or watch from the afterlife, if he was already dead, knowing that it was all his fault for spiting her.

A smirk lit her features, and Diorite walked down the gloomy hallway with a bit more spring in her step.

She saw multicolored light spill from a doorway far ahead to her left, and she felt a sense of happiness and peace at the sight-- it was, like for many other dragons, her place of childhood happiness and fun. A sense of comfort was earned just by stepping into it. She did so now, ducking her wings down a bit so that she could fit through.

Inside sat the Tribe of Scorching Sands diplomat, Monotropa, with her tail curled neatly across her talons and her head tipped upward ever so slightly, a sign of superiority and confidence that Diorite couldn't help but be intimidated by. Monotropa was no Jerboa, a flirty dragon that would wink and have fun as he did his job-- no, this was a seasoned, tried diplomat who could forge agreement even as dragons died around her. Her expression was calm, serene, yet firm enough to have been carved out of stone, and her eyes landed on Diorite with an unreadable expression.

Diorite shivered, pulling her wings close to her body, but told herself that it was simply because a breeze had whistled through the greenhouse.

The Tribe of Scorching Sands diplomat sat on a rock in the middle of the green of plants surrounding her-- no, she perched, looking more like a bird than any Igneous Tribe dragon despite her lack of a beaked mouth. She looked down on the entering dragoness with a hint of spite and distrust-- she had heard her fellow diplomat's suggestions, and though she didn't believe him fully, she had detected a bit of untruth in the Igneous Tribe queen's accusation as well.

"Diorite," she greeted, her tone full of warmth but her blue eyes looking frozen over. "A pleasure to meet you."

Diorite nodded slowly. "Likewise." Her talons clenched slightly as she noticed that Monotropa had the higher ground, but she fought hard to ignore it. She knew that it was simply part of the dragoness's game, a game of trickery and intimidation, and she refused to let it get to her.

She wasn't very successful in that manner, however.

Monotropa removed that bit of intimidation, however, only an instant later when she took off gracefully from the rock and landed gently among the fruit trees from another tribe far away. But instead of relief, Diorite felt an instant increase in the tenseness-- Monotropa leaving the higher ground made her appear confident in her own abilities, sure that she could beat the Igneous Tribe dragoness.

Diorite cleared her throat then, trying to decrease the tension she swore was stealing the breath from her lungs. "You wished to see me?" Her voice was tight and formal, and slightly defensive. She winced, knowing very well that the other dragon would be able to sense it.

The sense of satisfaction in Monotropa's gaze increased ever so slightly, confirming her suspicions. "I did," she replied, letting a hint of smugness enter her tone. "I hear that my tribemate Jerboa had taken advantage of you?"

Diorite swallowed, thanking the fire below that her throat was plated and that the other dragon wouldn't be able to see the movement. "He did," she confirmed, careful to keep the uncertainty from the voice but letting a bit of her sadness and frustration to creep in. "You should be ashamed to call him part of your tribe."

Monotropa's ears, which Diorite suddenly noted were even larger than Jerboa's, raised ever so slightly in surprise. "Oh? How strange, then, that he claims that you were willing?"

Diorite couldn't help it, her wings curled around her body defensively, an action she knew gave away the fact that the next words out of her mouth would be a lie. "I wasn't," she insisted, but her voice was quiet. She tried a new approach, then, trampling her previous statement and ripping it to shreds as she tried to prove that it wasn't her fault, that it was his and his alone. "I mean I said yes..but I wasn't thinking straight, I was scared, and I didn't think I'd have an egg...I was drunk." She added that last statement in a hurry, in a sort of added on lie that cast her previous statement in a different light. It wasn't a complete lie, because she had indeed been drunk when the action that caused the egg to be created happened, but she was sober when she agreed to meet with him every night and twine tails and watch the sunrise.

Some part of her knew she was guilty, but it was simply easier to shove all of her guilt on someone else.

Monotropa's ears rose even more, but her expression wasn't one of disbelief but that of one accepting something strange and unlikely but more believable than the alternative. "I see." Her tone had lost any of the sarcasm it had been drenched with earlier, and her voice trailed for so long on the "s" that Diorite could see her tongue flickering. Her expression was sympathetic, and Diorite felt a wave of relief that the dragoness had believed her.

But then her expression hardened, froze into one as stern as the previous, and her mouth softly spat out the words that Diorite had been dreading yet hoping for. "What he did was terrible, I do agree...but our tribe needs that alliance. We will punish Jerboa, I promise."

Her voice was calm, but with a quiet desperation that was only shown in her eyes, and for a moment Diorite considered it. She considered going to the queen and telling them that it was alright to trade with the Tribe of Scorching Sands once more, and she considered simply flying over and melting off Jerboa's face on her own, ending her hatred then and there.

But that was simply too easy, too kind for the cold-hearted Jerboa. He needed to be punished more than his own tribe would do to him, and what better way than having him know he was responsible for a war that would slaughter his entire tribe?

Diorite allowed her voice to crack. "B-but...I don't trust you, any of you, especially your males! What's to say he won't be set free or escape and come back?"

Monotropa's expression didn't shift, but her neck tensed slightly. "He won't, I can promise you that." She seemed slightly offended at Diorite's fear, and a hint of suspicion was creeping back into her voice.

A feeling of panic rushed through Diorite. "I don't trust you," Diorite repeated, her voice soft and her wings folded to her side. Her head ducked slightly as if ducking under an attack and Monotropa let out a loud sigh.

Monotropa's expression stayed steady, but her wings flared out ever so slightly. "I do hope you realize you are sentencing an entire race to death, Lady Diorite. You will have to live with that on your conscience."

Diorite whipped her tail out from her talons and swept the grassy ground angrily. Her desperation was growing, because Monotropa was unruffled, unreasonable. "Why ask me? Ask Queen Blairmorite yourself!"

Monotropa's neck expanded, but her voice remained calm. "I did."

Diorite snarled. "Then so be it! The entire lot of you are traitors, and calculating, and tricksters, as harmful as the desert you live in! I don't want my tribe to consort with those who speak to the dead and listen!" Her voice was defensive, accusatorial, and tainted with just the tiniest bit of nervousness.

Monotropa dipped her head. "I hope you realize, little dragoness, that you are condemning millions of hatchlings to their deaths. I hope you know that they are all dragons as real as the Igneous Tribe and the hatchling that now sits in your egg, who will one day ask their mother to explain why she condemned their father's entire tribe to death for the mistake that one dragon made." Her words were filled with fury, yet the tone she spoke them with was almost respectful and completely calm and collected.

"I have no hatchlings!" Diorite roared, the illusion she'd created shattering. "I have no hatchlings, and I never will, now that your tribe mate made me unclean!"

Monotropa flinched ever so slightly at the noise, then turned away from the Igneous Tribe dragoness and towards the door on the opposite side of the greenhouse. "I hope you enjoy watching this war, Diorite. You are the one who caused it, not your foolish mate." Her talons scraped against the ground in her first true note of anger, but it was gone as quick as it came, vanishing after the brief note of claw against stone.

Then she was gone, vanishing through the doorway and flying down the hallway with a feigned aura of civility and calmness, of knowing that her sister and her brothers and every one of the young ones in her Tribe would be forced to fight because of two dragons' stupid mistakes made in passion.

Diorite watched her leave, not feeling the slightest twinge of guilt at the chaos she had just created.