There is a story which is passed down through the line of Equestrian diplomats like an ancestral sword; meant to be kept and preserved but never shown to outsiders.

This story takes place in the early days of international diplomacy, when the races were just beginning to consider their neighbors as more than just possible threats or potential meals. There had always been some degree of trading between creatures and sometimes one nation would come to the aid of another (if they thought the threat might turn on them next) but there was never anything official. No specific policies set forth between one government and another.

It was after the first Minotaur war that everything changed. The conflict took its toll on the continent and every nation was left reeling. It was then that Princess Celestia, King Grendel, Dragonlord Inferno, and High Shaman Zeesha decided that it was high time to establish official diplomatic relationships. Thus, a summit was announced.

It was to be the first such event of its kind; a conference of all the talking races. Given the era, this consisted of exclusively the ponies, griffons, zebra, and dragons.

Seeing as the ponies were still building their new city on the mountain after the Minotaurs had destroyed the Everfree capitol, and how the Griffons were more a nomadic collection of warrior merchants than a fixed nation, and how the dragons didn't really "do" architecture, the city of Zebrabwei was chosen to host the event.

The Zebrican capitol was a marvel to behold. Compared to the cottages, tents, and caves of the visiting delegations, the adobe brick buildings (some rising five or more stories tall!) were jaw-dropping. Zebrican magic kept their rooms cool even in the sweltering savannah heat, and the richness of the exotic food was to die for (including one very close call when the dragon delegate discovered the local delicacy known as jade).

What the delegates found unusual, however, was the sheer number of strict rules their guides pressed upon them. Never gesture to someone with your left forelimb if your right is unoccupied. Never remove food from a communal eating area. Never make an advance on a zebra unless you fully intend to follow through with a betrothal. These were but the first of an exhausting list.

At the center of the city, set apart by a wide exclusion zone, was the brightest of all the city's jewels. The royal palace was a living tapestry, woven out of still-living savannah grasses of a dozen species and shades of color. Vibrant murals made up each wall, not only depicting the history of the royal lineage but of the nation as a whole. Every blade, every leaf, despite being woven tight enough to block wind and light alike, was kept alive with the power of ancient zebra mysticisms.

The hall chosen as the conference room was considered one of the finest in all the palace. It depicted the zebra creation mythos, in which Zebros, the first zebra from with all others take their name, rescues an injured Spirit of the plains and is blessed with mastery over plants and gifted the first stripes.

The day after the delegate's arrival (the first day being dedicated to a large welcoming ceremony and subsequent feast), the pony and griffon representatives arrived in the conference hall ahead of schedule. Both were quite eager to closen the ties between the zebras and their respective nations.

The ponies were eager to ally with a similar looking race and, if things went well, lay the groundwork to bring them into the larger Equestrian fold as they had done with the thestrals. The griffons were eager for new trading partners, both as raw material suppliers and finished good consumers. In particular, there was one product which the griffon ambassador was hoping to shill more than any other.

Some weeks prior, each nation had sent gifts to the others, showcasing not only their goodwill but also a sampler of the various goods they were willing to trade. Among those sent by the zebras, one had stood out to the griffons in particular: sugar cane.

Having known only the dangerous bugbear honey as a sweetening agent, the juicy twigs were nothing short of a miracle. Griffon culinary scientists spent weeks delving into its secrets, only days before the summit finalizing their latest invention and potential export: the scone. An abomination of a pastry, composed almost entirely of sugar held together with a flour and water paste.

Like any savvy businesscreature, the griffin diplomat brought a sample with him to the conference room and proudly showed it off before the others arrived. The pony ambassador became immediately concerned. Unlike the griffons who had only investigated trade possibilities and the dragons who had come hungry but completely unprepared, the ponies had taken time to study Zebrican culture and customs. Chiefly among them was their strict adherence to rules, shown both in their intricately worded laws and their meticulously metered speech.

As the story goes, knowing that any violation of their customs could spell disaster for the upcoming alliance between their peoples, the pony ambassador gently chided her griffon counterpart by smacking the treat from his claws and making a sharp comment about his intelligence.

Never to leave an insult unreturned, the griffon replied with a biting critique about the pony's heritage and a demand that he be compensated over the lost value of the product.

Though the exact conversation has been lost to time, it is said that their quarrel became so loud, their diatribes regarding each other's appearances and lineages so ostentatiously verbose, that even the sound-insulating grass wall struggled to muffle it. It did not, however, fail to conduct the sound of the door guard heralding the imminent entry of the other delegates.

The pony ambassador, in a moment of pure reactionary instinct, bucked the offending pastry so hard that it launched into the ceiling and wedged itself squarely within the grass plaits of Zebros' forehead (unintentionally retconning the entire Zebrican mythology by making him a unicorn).

In a moment of silence before the others arrived, both diplomats wordlessly agreed to not mention it. This was their first, and perhaps most dangerous, mistake.

Despite their varying levels of preparation, none of the three visiting races had thought to study up on Zebrican flora and fauna. Thus, they knew nothing of the Zebrican Fire Ant.

The Zebrican fire ant was, and is, a curious case of magical evolution. Unlike many similar species, they have no Queen. Rather, the entire colony is genetic duplicates of a single entity. When an ant gathers enough energy, it will cleave and split into two individuals. This miracle of nature is accompanied by a burst of flame, giving them their name. Usually, this event would happen deep and safe within the hive, however, gaining a large amount of energy very quickly will cause an ant to split and combust spontaneously. For generations, many zebras used this to their advantage; manipulating ants to start cooking fires or to dry out wet pottery by coaxing them using their favorite high-energy food: simple sugars.

As one may guess, the scone ensconced in the wall's weave was a nigh-irresistible treat to every fire ant in half a league.

When the inevitable finally happened, thankfully not a single creature was hurt as they were all away from the palace for lunch at the time.

Three things came about as a result of the blaze that destroyed the royal palace. First, though the cause of the fire was never determined, Zebra-Dragon relations nonetheless soured for the next three centuries.

Second, the first official, and to date, longest lasting accord between ponies and griffons was forged. Though the agreement was never once vocalized, both parties made a solemn vow to "never speak of this again".

The third and final product of the fire was the creation of a cautionary tale among both pony and griffon diplomats.

The lesson the griffons took away was that one should never reveal a prototype product to anyone before the intended customer.

For ponies, it became a tale that would be passed down through generations of diplomats for so long that it would become a parable about the danger of acting rashly without knowing all the facts. Or, as one particularly eloquent griffon had put it, the parable of how ponies in grass houses should not throw scones.