The furnace was no place for a lady like Jasmine. So she'd been told more times than she could count-- by her mother, by her tutor, by the delvers who'd laughed when she asked after their stories. She was a delicate thing. The dungeons had not called her family's blood in generations, but this was the first time she'd wondered if, perhaps, all those naysayers had a point. Her slender doe's legs trembled, yet she stood frozen. Wide-eyed. Staring at the well of rising red beneath the platform which was her only quickly-vanishing salvation. She did not even realize she had stopped breathing until Logue's earthy voice cut through the fog. 

"Miss Jasmine," he called from above, and Jasmine's head snapped up to stare at him. His eyes were just as wide as her own. "Miss Jasmine, hurry! This way!" With a toss of his head he urged her toward the other side of her sinking stone raft. It was nearly too much to ask Jasmine's knees to bend. She was exhausted, heat-addled, missing the cloying damp of the caverns above-- missing her silken cushions and the attentions of her maids. She would have given anything for a bath in rosewater. It was her own sweat, instead, which stuck her pale pelt flat. 

"What's happening?!" Jasmine gasped, and finally hauled her hooves into motion. 

"This way, my lady!" Now wasn't the time, his tone said, to discuss the ways and workings of the Earthen Furnace. Now was the time to run, and Jasmine did as best she could. Throwing herself bodily up the raft as she felt it begin to tip beneath her hooves, she galloped for the winding path Logue had taken to the top. It was barely more than a crack between flagstones, and the first couple leaps she took only sent her stumbling back toward the magma as the old stone crumbled beneath her. Jasmine shrieked as she slipped, catch herself, shrieked again. And all the while she could hear Logue pacing above her, desperately calling her name. He'd been a good guide, to her. She would hate for his voice to be the last she ever heard-- 

Jasmine caught a whiff of burning hair as the magma swelled high enough to singe the tip of her tail. Perhaps it was that looming threat which steadied her hooves, or perhaps she just got lucky. Either way, the lady found her footing. Gasping for air, she heaved herself up onto the floor above. Logue reached her not a beat later, boosting her back into motion with his broad shoulder. 

"Keep running!" he, too, was breathless. "It won't stop there!" Dizzy and desperate, Jasmine did as she was told. Together they pounded up one hall, then the next, always with the distant pop of rising magma on their heels. Jasmine did not dare stop running. She stopped thinking, stopped wondering, stopped wishing she were anywhere but there until Logue called her name again. Gentler, this time. 

Chest heaving, legs shaking, Jasmine staggered to halt and realized the stone surrounding them was dark. The air as cool as it ever became in this horrible place... 

"You alright, miss?" Logue asked. He stepped up beside her closer than usual, worried Jasmine might fall. If she was honest, she was too. 

"No-" Jasmine choked. She let her head hang. "What was that?" 

"That, uh-- it just happens sometimes," Logue gave her a wry, almost guilty laugh. "Too much heat to be keepin' contained."

Jasmine thought better of a biting comment. There was no sense questioning the ways of the dungeon. This place... living creatures such as them were not meant for it. 

"We can find somewhere to rest," Logue suggested after a long moment's silence. Jasmine nodded wordlessly. She would sleep like the dead, if she could bring herself to trust the magna would not come chasing them again.