More time passed, relatioships were built and a hierarchy was estabilished.

On top, obviously, there was Gargant, with all his massive bulk and sheer power. Nobody of the littler could ever begin to measure up to him, not even close. He was a giant between dwarves, literally.

On the bottom, stood Morr. Even if piebald, with patches of white that inspired respect, he was the runt of the litter, the smallest, with only the sickly Thrik being lower than him. Nobody took him seriously and everybody made sure of kicking him when it was time to feed.

Still, he was the only one with the guts to actually get close to Gargant, and in time a strange symbiosis formed between the duo. However big and strong he was, Gargant didn't have the aggressivity that one expected from a black-furred skaven. Instead, he was laid back, timid and didn't like to bully and fight. Morr was almost his opposite. Vicious, spiteful and full of aggressive drive, he had the will and the wish to get on top and crash all the opposition.

The duo clicked together in an almost disquieting way. It was rare a day without Morr hiding behind the bulk of his brother, calling for help against bullying and inciting him to push back and hurt, with Gargant duly complying. At the same time, it happened often for Gargant to stop his violent ministrations just before actually hurting somebody, to the chagrin of his litter brother.

Morr couldn't understand why Gargant didn't use his bulk to bully the rest of the litter in submission, nor why he was so ready to do what he told him to do, but why complain? Gargant was more than eager to divide his massive ration of milk with him and more than happy to beat the skull of that idiot Hurk when he tried to bully him. As far as he was concerned, that was the best situation for him. He got to stuff himself and to lord over his brothers - what faces they did when he threatened them of calling Gargant!-. That was life!

The broodmother oversaw that little universe, her kind smile and ready attention always there for each of the hyperactive ratling, with no exception.

The litter, divided as it was, was unanymous in wholehearteadly loving her. Every sleep time was accompanied by her soft song and caresses, every moment by her sweet affection. Gargant and Morr slept nestled against her, her soft humming lulling them to sleep.

They loved her, she was the center of their little world.

But, not even with all their adoration, they actually understood how much she had been lucky in having her as her mother, a lesson that they would have learned only later in life.

Time passed and, together with it, came growth and new learnings.

The Broodmother taught to the litter how to to speak and how to take care of themselves, how to live and many many other things.

"The name for us is Skaven." She said with soft solemnity at the entranced litter. "We are the children of the Horned Rat."

"Who's the Horned Rat?" Morr asked.

"The Horned Rat is the greatest and wisest Skaven. He was the first Skaven to have ever lived and there hasn't ever been one bigger than him."

"Really?" Gargant asked, in one of his rare moment of stepping out from silence. "How great he is?"

A smile appeared on the broodmother's solemn countenance. "Great enough that he can climb over this pit's walls with only a step."

An admirated "oooh" raised from the litter, as the ratlings tried to immagine a skaven so big.

"And where does he lives?" Morr asked.

"Away and away, in a great house full of the most delicious food and of the shiniest things. There, he sit on a great chair and has a court full of the greatest skaven to have ever lived."

"So, he's like a king?" Morr asked, remembering the fairytales that the broodmother used to teach them new things.

The broodmother nodded. "Yes, he's the great king of the Skaven and everybody listen to him."

"He… he will come here?"

That question sent a shiver of both expectation and disquiet running through the litter.

"No." The broodmother said with sadness. "He can't."

"Why? Isn't he the biggest skaven?"

"He is, but listen." The broodmother gestured towards the walls of the pit. "See those walls?"

The litter turned briefly where she was indicating, before nodding.

"Walls bigger than those keep the Horned Rat from coming from us."

The litter tried and failed to imagine such things.

"Why?"

The broodmother hummed for a moment, before answering.

"Long time ago, before you were born, yes, even before i was born, the Horned Rat walked the land just as you and me. At that time, there were terrible creatures roaming above."

The litter nodded. The fabled over-ground. Many fairytales of their mother talked of it.

"The Horned Rat was big and strong, but those creatures were many and vicious, and he couldn't defeat them all alone. So, in his wisdom, he retreated down in the earth and there he escaped his persecutors. He liked the darkness and the silence, but he longed for children to call his own. So, he put his great paw over the rats that scuttled at his feet and, when he raised it up, up!, the first skaven danced out in the underworld!"

She clapped her paw once, and a shiver of enthusiasm passed over the litter.

"Hooray for the Horned Rat! Hooray!"

"And then?" Morr asked eagerly.

"Then, he sent the skaven scuttling away in all the world, and they became many many, many enough to battle against the monster that infested the over-world and strong enough to face them without fear. But then…"

"Then?"

"Then, something changed in the world. It became… less. And, even if the greatest of the mosters on the surfaces disappeared, now the world wasn't great enough for the Horned Rat to remain in it. So, he went away, behind walls greater that these ones and there he built his house. Still, many many holes he made in the walls and from there he watches over his children and if we try to listen, we can pick up his chittering, that shows us the way."

"Oooooh…"

There was a moment of silence as the litter absorbed those words. The ratlings tentatively raised their ears, trying to pick up the whispers of the Horned Rat.

Curious, Morr was the first to speak up.

"Why the world changed?" He asked.

"Nobody knows for sure." The broodmother said. "The wisest of the skaven says that it was fault of the elves-things and of their magic, that they made a big hole in the world and made it smaller. Others says that it was the fault of the nasty things that come from the end of the world. Even today, nobody has been ever sure." She smiled at the saddened expressions of the litter. "Don't cry though, because the Horned Rat watches over us and protect us."

"Even now?"

"Even now. Always. And if we act as good skaven, he will reward us."

"Oooooh."

That and many more lessons were imparted by the broodmother to the litter, about the life of the skaven, their history, how they were supposed to live and what the right values to follow were. Strenght, cunning, staying together and scuttling together, as brothers. Those were the pillars of the strange education that the broodmother gave to her litter.

And still, she put them on guard about how the world of the skaven was ugly and bad, its inhabitants having forgotten the lessons of the Horned Rat.

Her fairy tales were the first form of lessons that Morr and Gargant received, and the smallest of the two picked up everything incredibly fast. In particular, he reveled in learning how to talk and express himself. He loved the subtleties of the language of the Skaven, Queekish, the mosaics of meaning that could be woven and changed with the movements of the body together with those of the mouth.

Between lessons and fairytales, more time passed. The milk was substituted by meat, that was thrown in the pit at regular intervals, and the ratlings kept on growing.

The initial differences in growth were blunted by the good nutrition they received, and all ended up on growing fat and healthy. And still, nobody could ever hope to compete with Gargant, whose growth seemed to know no limit.

Life was good for the litter, and, between a good meal and their mother's affection, it seemed like it would have continued like that forever. Yes, the broodmother had said that it would come a moment in which they would be carried out of the pit and had to step into the world, but that time seemed far away like the dreams that lulled Morr to sleep, dreams that recounted to him the tales that his mother told to him.

Then, that night came.

Morr woke up with a jolt, his eyes snapping open.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

As always, before moving rashly, he left his senses extend around him. They brought him the soft snooring of the litter, the usual pungent odours of the pit, and still… there was something in the air, an intense vibration that rumbled through his chest.

He slept, as always, nestled against Gargant's thick fur, the warmth of his big brother warming him, his deep, steady breath lulling him to sleep.

A realization jolted in his mind. The breath of his brother! He couldn't hear it anymore!

"Gargant?" He whispered. That buzz of danger was still in the air, pushing him to keep his voice low.

There was a sort of nervous chitter coming from his brother, more of an animalistic sound than an actual reply. Morr shivered. There was something very wrong in it.

The great ratling laid wrapped in a roll of fur, his head hidden. Gingerly, Morr moved from his resting spot and sneaked his way up the mound of black fur. Gargant was breathing, he noticed, but not at the slow, deep pace he was used to. Instead, he took quick, short, frantic breaths.

Morr moved through the fur, using the already pronunced muscles of his brother as a ladder, and came out on his top. From there, he had a good vision of Gargant's face.

It was in that moment that his anxious feelings turned to full-blown alarm.

Gargant's eyes were wide open, their usual yellowish radiance turned to a bloodshot red. His breath came out ragged and short, and his snout glistened with sweat.

"Gargant?" Morr asked, alarmed. "Brother?" He could feel him tremble under his paws.

The suddeness with which Gargant's gaze snapped to him made him squeak in surprise. The eyes of the great ratling made a clump of ice form inside his chest. He was watching him like he watched those lumps of meat that they brought to the pit after a long time of waiting.

"B-brother?" Morr asked, feeling fear's fingers crawl over his heart.

Gargant opened his maw slightly, his tongue darting out briefly. For a moment, he looked about to say something, but then he closed his mouth and swallowed.

Suddenly, he darted forward. Morr squeaked in fear, and fell down from his perch. He tumbled in the dirt, paws scrambling, before coming to a rest against a wall.

He raised himself slowly, heart hammering. Gargant was stopped in the middle of raising up, his red eyes fixed on him. All his muscles of his body were tensed, like before of a jump. There was turmoil on his face now, his features twisted in a pained grimace.

Morr found that he couldn't look away by those two eyes fixed on him.

"What is happening?"

The heads of both snapped to the left. Their broodmother seemed to emerge from the shadows of the pit like an apparition. Her soft smile was unchanged, her eyes full of patient affection.

Morr blinked. She didn't look like she was waking now. Was she already there?

The rest of the litter was waking up, paws were rubbing eyes and questions were groggily being asked.

They weren't even glanced upon. The broodmother had eyes only for Gargant.

The great ratling was trembling, his eyes two great poles of sanguine light.

Morr squeaked when he glanced at him, drawing back out of instinct. The smell of the dark was strong now, and hit his nose like a punch. Whispers caressed his ears. He could feel a headache raising in time with his hammering heart.

Gargant made a step toward him. A drop of spit fell from his mouth. It fizzled when it it hit the ground.

"Gargant."

The firm voice of the broodmother cut the tense silence like a knife in the butter.

Gargant stopped. He was trembling.

"Watch me."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Gargant obeyed.

The broodmother's gaze was firm, but her smile was unchanged. She opened her arms wide, like as inviting him to embrace her.

That gesture sent Morr's sense of danger in full-alert. The whispers in his mind became voices that told him to escape, to run away as fast as possible. Pain exploded in his head.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

The litter, waking up groggily. Gargant, his massive frame tensed like an arrow, his great red eyes fixed forward. And the broodmother, with her arms spread wide, with her smile, with her eyes full of sad resignation.

That image hit Morr's mind like fire, sending his thoughts tumbling down in spirals of fear and desperation.

Then, Gargant pounced.

The blood splattered the wall, its metallic scent exploding in the pit like a warpbomb. The litter exploded in confusion and terror, the ratlings squeaking and escaping in every direction. Gargant and the broodmother fell down in a tangle.

Morr stood still, time seeming to slow for him. He could see the blood spurting out, its scent hitting his nostrils with metallic claws. In his chest, he could feel emptiness. The voices screamed for him to escape, to run.

He did, but forward.

He landed on Gargant's back with a thud, his paws scrambling to grab hold of the black fur. The great ratling thrashed, sending a trail of blood splattering around, but his hold didn't slackened. Morr held with all his strenght as to not be unsaddled. Terror was an alive thing in him, a rain of shards scattering his thoughts in a chaotic mess. He squeaked in terror, but didn't leave his hold.

More out of instinct than for actual planning, he began to climb Gargant's back. His brother kept on trashing, every jolt threatening to send him flying away, but he kept going.

Shards of memory swirled wildly in his head. His ears, Gargant had sensible ears.

"Stop, Gargant! Stop!" Someone called out. Morr didn't understand who it was, all his strenght focused on not being thrown away.

Splurts of blood marred Gargant's head, a ferocious snarl rumbling out of his throat.

Morr winced and stopped when those red eys snapped to him. A paw darted against him, but the broodmother's paw grabbed hold of it.

Gargant snarled in anger, but still didn't remove his teeth. Terrorized, Morr jumped. Gargant swished his tail, and he didn't manage to dodge it. Pain exploded into his head, red stains rushing his vision. He trashed madly in mid-air, just before smashing against Gargant's neck. He managed to barely get a hold of it.

A scream of agony pierced his jumbling thoughts, making him wince. He snarled, chittering. Anger raised inside of him like a hot flame. His aching muscles screamed as he raised himself up, but he didn't care.

He opened his mouth and, with all the strenght that he could still muster, bit down hard on an ear.

Gargant howled in pain, finally releasing the broodmother's neck. Blood covered his muzzle as he turned around like a rabid animal.

Morr managed to maintain his grip for a moment still, his legs twitching madly in search of support. He got a scratch on his shoulder, that made him squeak as pain stabbed his flesh. His hold was lost, just before Gargant's tail smashed against his side, sending him tumbling down.

Battered, body full of aches and pain stabbing through his chest at every breath, Morr tried to get up, but Gargant was on him before he could. Squeaking in terror, Morr rose his paws to protect his face. Gargant pushed them down with a single paw before opening his mouth and chittering angrily at his brother's face.

They remained like that, eyes locked.

Morr felt any strenght flow away from him. His blood felt like ice and the pain was like fire burning in his body.

Still, Gargant's red eyes seemed to swallow anything else.

Morr felt any hope disappear like a flicked off flame as his brother opened his mouth. The stink of blood and flesh hit him like a fist.

Terror burning in his veins, he closed his eyes and chattered, with all the little strenght that he had left.

Then, he waited for the end.

It never came.

After a moment, Morr opened his eyes.

Gargant was watching him, a strange expression on his face. Something seemed to waver in him, like a shadow was leaving him.

Slowly, his eyes retook their usual colour, and his bestial anger melted into marvel. Before Morr's eyes, he seemed to become smaller.

He wavered, his eyes flicking to Morr's injuries. They filled with fear as he looked around.

"I…" He began.

The rest of the litter kept away from him, watching every movement of his with cautious terror.

"I…" He turned to Morr again.

He raised a paw toward him, and Morr flinched back.

That, more than anything else, seemed to hurt him. The two ratlings locked eyes.

A moan attracted their attention.

The broodmother was stirring.

"Mother!"

Forgetting aches and pains, Morr jumped up. Gargant moved out of the way, remaining behind while he ran to the fallen broodmother's side.

"Mother!" The ratling squeaked.

A deep gash raked the point between her shoulder and her neck, blood flowing abundantly from it.

Terrorized, Morr frantically patted around the wound. She was going to die! He had to do something! Anything!

He was pushed away by the rest of the litter, the ratlings moving in a chorus of squeaks and screams, calling for their mother.

Morr stumbled back, barely catching himself. Then, he turned around.

Gargant was immoble like a statue. His glazed eyes were fixed on the wound raking its way over his mother's flesh.

Like he was feeling it, he moved his head, meeting Morr's gaze.

Morr felt fear at meeting those eyes again, but… but he recognized it. That was his brother. His brother.

Gargant's glazed gaze seemed to retake light. His nose twitched as he sniffed. He nodded.

Then, he turned around.

Morr raised a paw toward him, a thousand words running to his mouth, but he didn't speak any of them nor Gargant stopped to listen.

Instead, the great ratling jumped high. A little cascade of dirt fell as his claws sank in the walls of the pit.

Under Morr's dumbstruck eyes, he began to climb.

High and high, he went, without ever slowing, without ever looking back. Over the walls that made up their little happy world, toward the ugly unknown beyond. Over the end of the world, without fear, with courage, relentless.

His brother Gargant.

His brother…

Morr jolted awake with a yell.

"Gargant!" He yelped, a paw shooting upward.

His fingers grasped nothing but air, and he found himself staring at a ceiling of rock.

He stood there, half-seated on his cot, his heart hammering in his chest. Slowly, his thoughts returned to reality, and he understood where he was.

"I have dreamed it again." He whispered, watching his open palm.

The warm, slick blood of his mother on his paws, his aching muscles, the desperation, the fear. It had looked all so real…

He remained there for a moment, mind mulling over the past. Eventually, he shook himself and got up. The old cot, stuffed with straw and leaves gave a faint rustle as he left it.

The room was little more than a hole, its dimensions only big enough to accomodate the cot, fixed in a niche into the rock, and to allow Morr to move in a cramped way. The only light arrived by a little fuse in a bowl full of fat, deposited in a corner. It was dim, flickering, but for a skaven it was just the right kind of illumination.

Morr stretched himself up, feeling with pleasure joints popping and tensed muscles relaxing. He got up on his tips and stretched his arms until he touched the ceiling. He groped around for a while, until he found two big iron rings protuding from the rock.

He didn't know for what reason they had been put there, even if he could immagine, but, as everything, they might as well be useful for something.

Morr grabbed hold of the rings and began to stretch. Up and down, moving his arms and raising himself up. While he did, his mind kept on mulling over the dream.

Ah, good times those in the pit. Too bad that mother's words didn't hold a candle at what the real world would have been.

Morr made a last flip before returning with his feet down.

"That feels better." He huffed.

There was a little sack beside the bed. He grabbed it and began to rummage inside. There was mostly garbage inside, objects that at first seemed to have become useful but that at later inspection revealed themselves to actually not being it at all. Still, Morr was searching one object in particular and, after a moment of searching, he found it.

The bowl had the square, hard lines of dwarfen architecture. Details were carved on its surface with meticulous precision, but whatever they represented had been worn out by time.

Morr weighted it in his hand for a moment, before tilting him by a side. A little cascade of dirt and dust feel down.

His gaze lingered on the form of the object, more than on the carvings.

A bowl. Like that in the pit.

The past…

He repulsed the memories with a mighty shake. The past was in the past, and that was it. What it mattered was the present. And now he had to go.

He put back the bowl inside and threw the sack over his shoulder. After blowing off the flame of the makeshift candle, he made his way toward the back of the little chamber.

There, a faint outline was barely visible in the rock. Morr grabbed a metal rod that protuded from it and pulled it toward himself. A portion of the wall moved under his efforts, letting a chink of light become visible. He pushed his snout in the fissure, sniffing loudly.

No strange smells. Good.

Satisfied, he let go of the rod and pushed against the wall with both hands. It costed him a bit of effort, but the hidden door moved, swiweling on invisible hinges. It opened on the side of a low tunnel, dirt and debris cluttering the ground.

Morr jumped out, then pushed the door closed again. What it remained was only another tunnel wall like any else.

Morr briefly marveled at how the beard-things were able to build such ingenious hiding spot. His thought tinged itself of spite and envy for the hated enemies, before he moved his mind to more pressing matters.

He began to make his way down the tunnel, keeping his ears well-open.

No more clamours.

Good. That stupid brute had probably had his fill.

A brute… just like Gargant had been…

"Bah!"

The past was in the past. What it mattered was the present. The stupid, boring, dangerous present.

He stopped at the end of tunnel.

Taking a good breath, he straightened himself up. His chest puffed up, his fur stood on an end, his whiskers jutted forward. He wasn't the most intimidating of the skaven, that he knew, but that didn't mean that he couldn't at least try to look bigger.

Grabbing hold of the sack, and of his own determination, he stepped out of the tunnel.