Falcon nudges some abandoned barding around with a single cream hoof, trying not to think of why its original owner, whoever they were, may have left their gear behind in the first place. If the armour were in bad shape, he’d be inclined to think that the Courser it belonged to probably figured it was weighing them down more than anything, but… it definitely still looks usable at minimum to him. If it weren’t so heavy, the flaxen stallion might even have been inclined to bring at least a few pieces back to the surface to sell; but considering he’d definitely be the sucker who has to actually haul the bits of barding through the dungeon if he wants to do that, Falcon very quickly scraps that particular idea.

As he moves a slightly dented criniere to the side, something colourful and glimmering in the lantern light catches his eye. Upon closer inspection, it both is and isn’t what the chestnut Courser had been expecting; the glimmering had in fact come from brightly coloured, valuable looking gemstones, but for some reason, they’re attached to beetles that are far too busy fighting each other to notice the Dungeon Courser looking down at them. He snorts with amusement, before calling out to his brother.

“Hey, Harrier, come check this out,” The smaller horse snickers. “Gem beetles.”

“Gem beetles…?” Harrier echoes from the other side of the chamber, the clicking of his hooves growing louder as he trots over to take a look for himself. “Oh, wow, that is a very accurate description, huh?”

“I reckon we bring these guys back,” Falcon says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Those jewels look real.”

“Not a bad idea,” His older brother concedes, sounding genuinely impressed for once, even if only a little bit. “You’re in charge of carrying them, though… I don’t want to deal with beetles in my bags.”

“Hrmf…” Falcon rolls his eyes, and starts digging through his own saddlebags for something to keep the insects in. “Knew you’d say that. You think if we poked holes in a jar’s lid, it’d be enough to keep them alive for the trip back?”

“Why do you specifically want to keep them alive…?” The bay stallion asks, his nose wrinkling with distaste.
“Weird hobbyists might want ‘em,” He answers with a shrug. If his brother’s so much smarter than him, how did he not realise that? “Duh.”

“...Hard to argue with that,” Harrier admits reluctantly.