Moritz was an incredible teacher. Like Rotharde, they had respect for the dungeon and the art of diving within it. He'd heard rumors that Moritz was akin to a shadow, and that's exactly what Moritz was. They moved silently through the Earthen Furnace, and Mortiz kept both of them to the gloom, creeping into the corner that the soft, orange glow of lava couldn't touch. wherever possible. Rotharde took every step that the legend made, noting the reasons and keeping equally as silent. At times questions crept up that he wanted to pose to Moritz so that he could truly understand rather than speculate, but with the noises buzzing around them Rotharde supposed it was better this way.

What was perhaps the most notable technique to Rotharde was the utilization of the floating eye. While creepy and offputting, Mortiz utilized it with genius. It would spy around corners for them, and scout ahead if they heard a particular sound that left them questioning whether they had chosen the safest path. Mortiz caught something that Rotharde hadn't, and then sent their bonded pet ahead to see if there were lurking dangers. Thankfully, this left the two coursers behind in the darkness of a crumbling building and out of sight.

It wasn't ideal, as Rotharde seemed to notice the heat's intensity more when they lingered. He wanted nothing more than to splash the water from his canteen upon his brow, but he hadn't seen Moritz do so. At most, the veteran diver would shake their mane to switch it to the opposing side to let their neck breathe or flick their tail to create a bit of a draft. A salty bead of sweat rolled down Rotharde's dark face, slipped along the delicate skin of his lid, and stung as it slipped into his eye. He whispered a curse and rubbed the affected eye against his knee. It wasn't much better with all the dust and grime built upon his legs.

Mortiz glanced over their shoulder towards Rotharde as the bay's head came back up, still blinking away the pain. Then in a low murmur commented, "You have to be careful about that."

"Sorry, sir." Rotharde quietly said, shifting on his hooves. Somehow, they seemed less affected by the heat. Of course, they had sweat darkening their chestnut coat, but it wasn't to the extent of Rotharde, who had rivers of perspiration dripping onto the stone below. "I'll get used to it eventually."

Moritz chuffed. "This heat? No, you won't. Lava isn't something to grow accustomed too."

Rotharde's head tilted. "You seem less affected, what's your secret?"

The chestnut glanced over their shoulder, eyes sharp but patient. After a moment, he flipped open a saddlebag and gestured with a jerk of his head to come see. Rotharde inched forward, careful to keep the sound of his hooves upon the stone quiet, and looked. The back of the packs were loosely woven fabric and flat packages of leather sat beside them. "I pack some ice slabs. Good for a drink if your canteen gets empty, and helps keep the heat away at least for a bit."

Rotharde's head popped up, tresses like quicksilver tentacles writhing on his forehead. "That's ingenious."

Mortiz chuckled, "You'll learn to improvise as needed."