In an almost feverish frenzy, Harrier dislodges rocks one at a time, ignoring the burning of his muscles as he works. There's something beneath these layers of tightly packed stone, something that calls out to him, and the bay stallion is setting an agonizingly slow pace in actually reaching it. Usually, he's far more patient than this, but there's an odd sense of urgency nagging at Harrier's mind; it’s one that disconcerts him, and yet he has no choice but to follow it. 

Finally, he uncovers something that isn't yet another small boulder; the tobiano Courser has been to the dungeon enough times to know a chest when he sees one, even if he can only see a tiny bit of it, and his tail gives a frantic, excited flick. Now that he knows exactly where to focus his efforts, Harrier continues to unearth his prize, the chest whose contents he can hear even more clearly the more of it he reveals. He's definitely on the right track, he needs to know what it wants from him; no, he needs to give it what it wants.

Not bothering to step out of the hole he's dug himself into, Harrier scrambles to open the chest the second he's physically able; immediately, he's greeted by the sight of soft, shiny satin and glimmering gold. A beautiful crown sits inside the chest, and the Courser immediately knows that this must be what had been calling to him this whole time. Harrier's brown eyes go wide as he leans down for a closer look. It wants him to wear it, that much is obvious. It would be rude to deny it, right? It would be rude to deny what was clearly destined to be…

Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarm bells start ringing, but Harrier blocks the annoying noise out as he reaches for the crown that fills his mind. This needs to happen, he has no choice-

“Hey, Harrier, what are you-” His brother asks as he wanders over to Harrier’s impromptu dig site, before letting out a shrill whinny of alarm. “Oi, how many fucking times have you had to tell me not to go touching random hidden jewelry?!”

Falcon's pale hoof slams down in front of his own, barring him from claiming his treasure, and the larger Courser's ears pin back with pure anger.

“It's mine,” Harrier almost growls at the flaxen stallion. “It- It's calling to me, and-”

“Yeah, it’s calling me too, dumbass,” Falcon bluntly interrupts him, and it is now that his older brother notices he's gone as still and rigid as a statue. “It could not be more obviously cursed, Harrier. It doesn't care which sucker picks it up, just as long as someone picks it up. Got that?”

Cursed. That one word instantly breaks the trance the crown had put Harrier under, and suddenly, the alarm bells blaring in his mind can be heard as clear as day.

“W-We need to get away from this thing,” the seal bay horse stammers, backing away from the crown; even now, he still feels its horrifying pull. He had one job, to keep Falcon safe as he learned the ropes. He may not like the job, but how close had he come to personally being the one to endanger his own little brother? “We-We'll come back, after we've had a chance to recover. Put the damn thing back...”

“Agreed,” Falcon answers, letting out a shaky breath as he backs away from the cursed trinket himself. “It had to have been buried for a reason…”