It was with a sense of urgency and worry that the green-grey dragon by the name of Diorite walked slowly through the gemstone-encrusted walls of the palace.

Her scales very nearly blended into the dark grey walls of the hallway—a fact that the dragoness had wondered about many a time while walking down this hallway, considering they could have made the palace any color at all. But of course they'd chosen a dark, dismal grey, the kind of grey that seeped into one's scales and smothered any feelings of happiness.

It was so unlike yellow and white.

The designers, clearly, had noticed the rather drab design of this passageway, and decided to drill various gemstones into the wall in an attempt to brighten it up. But all it did was reflect the sadly lacking light in tiny, colorful patches so pitiful that it added to the feeling of gloom. It also didn't help that the hallways were huge, perhaps four times Diorite's height and five times her width, and that the gemstones were no larger than one of her talons.

None of this, however, was on Diorite's mind today as she walked down the passageway, her muscles tense but forced to walk at a slow, non-suspicious pace. Her eyes darted around nervously as she did so, as if expecting some creature to melt out of the wall and ask her why she was here.

It seemed backwards, wrong, almost, that this dragon was walking and not flying or at least running down the hallway. One could see her worry in the tenseness of her muscles, in the scrunch of her brow, and even—if one were looking closely—in the slight sag of her ram-like horns. Her claws clicked harshly against the rock floor, far louder than any normal member of the Igneous Tribe would walk. Her extensive silver and gold jewelry seemed to jostle just a bit more than normal, as if picking up on their owner's nervousness.

Something was wrong. And that something could be seen quite clearly in the lump in her stomach.

Diorite glanced from side to side as she passed a hallway, her orange eyes wide and fearful. Or perhaps terrified was a better word to describe them—the two gemstones alight with a terror that would give herself away to any dragon she happened along.

Luckily for her, no such dragon approached, and the noble ducked through a gemstone-rimmed doorway out into the gardens of the palace.

It was soft dirt that caressed her talons as she breathed in the air, air tasting of freedom that she had so foolishly decided to partake in. It was only temporary, she'd told herself, but by now it was far too late.

She scanned the grounds frantically, praying that the sandy-colored diplomat had received her message and was waiting for her somewhere. She felt a shiver of worry as she remembered how she'd sent it—through a maid, of all things—but she was desperate. She needed to see him, and quickly.

A cool breeze suddenly swept through the yard, rustling the few trees and countless bushes. The grey-green dragon shuddered, spooked, but shook her head to banish the feeling. Of course, all this did was rattle her jewelry, and the pit of dread in her stomach only deepened.

Why had she even bothered with the jewelry? All it did was single her out as a member of a rich family, and the turquoise beads further labeled her as a noble. All of which were just more likely to get her robbed or mugged by angry citizens.

She lashed her tail, relishing the quiet swish it made in the near-silent garden, and felt her stomach lurch slightly.

By the fires below, she swore. I need to find him. Now.

Diorite stepped forward with a new sense of urgency, a conviction fueled by the reminder of why she was even out here in the middle of the night, alone. She inhaled deeply, searching for his scent among the thousands of plants and creatures creeping around in the garden and, against all odds, located it. The scent of sands, of a hot sun baking a rock on the rare clear days in her kingdom and a touch of something simply foreign...it was him, all right.

It didn't take her long to find where the scent was coming from, either; clearly, the male had made no attempt to cover up his tracks. Nor had he picked a particularly original hiding spot, either—he was seated behind a boulder, just out of the view from the palace windows.

"Jerboa!" she called, then—for that was his name. He was named for the small creature that lived in the night with the huge ears that hear anything, which was highly appropriate if you asked her. 

He turned and faced her, and as always, she was blown away by his strange, foreign beauty. The pale white that crested his head, the darker yellow that covered this rest of the body and that was darkened and lightened in rows. Dark spots speckled his whole body—faint, but most certainly there, probably to help him blend into the sand. All in all, she could feel the worry that had invaded her mind for an entire day start to fade away.

He smirked at her appraisal and his tail wrapped around the tip of the boulder lazily. "What's up?" he asked, his usual emphasis on the "s" heightened ever so slightly by nervousness. 

Diorite blinked, remembering that she'd come here for a reason. A very important reason. "I...I'm with egg," she said, some of the terror she'd felt earlier creeping back into her voice.

Jerboa blinked once, twice, then shook his head frantically. "No. Nooooo. You're not with egg. You can't be..." His sky blue eyes then focused on her belly, seeing the clearly-outlined shape sitting there. "Spirits," he swore. "This can't be happening. No, no, no!"

"Well, it is happening, blast it!" hissed Diorite. "I don't know what to do!"

Jerboa shook his head, backing away slightly. "Don't look at me! I'm not the mother! This has nothing to do with me!"

Diorite's eyes narrowed. "Nothing to do with you? This egg has half of your genetics implanted into it, by molten fire! It is both of our responsibilities!"

Jerboa shook his head stubbornly. "You're the mother! For all I know, you had an egg with someone else!"

The green-grey Igneous Tribe dragon's mouth dropped open. "You DARE—"

Jerboa hissed. "Well, you got involved with a foreign diplomat, someone that you clearly aren't supposed to be with! How should I know what you're capable of?"

Diorite was practically bristling now, her wings tense and positioned in such a way that it wasn't clear whether she was about to take off or launch herself at the pale yellow dragon. "You—you—" she spluttered.

Jerboa's face was smug. "Now, I don't care what you say about that dragon, but it's not my problem. I'm not doing anything." He turned then, dipping his wings and tensing his legs as he prepared to fly off towards his shed. He turned his head back, though, to fix his former lover with one more smug look. "It was fun while it lasted, Diorite. Have fun with your hatchling!"

Diorite barely suppressed a roar as the insufferable dragon took to the air in an instant, his tail seeming to mockingly wave goodbye to her. I'll get that slimy dragon back if it's the last thing I do, she hissed internally. A smile crossed her face, then, as an idea dawned on her.

This egg isn't your problem? Well soon, dear, it will be the source of all of your problems.

I hope you all have enjoyed TCE as of so far! Who is your favorite character so far?