For a moment, Morr thought that his eyes were playing jokes on him.

But no, no, that smell, that dull hazelnut fur; it was Throttle, it was him, without a doubt.

The skaven looked better than how Morr had ever seen him, his scraggly coat groomed and even glinting of a dull shine in some points. A nice helmet covered his head, letting him see his surprised expression.

An expression that, as he watched him, changed to anxious thoughtfulness.

Throttle's eyes darted between Morr's prone form and the corner from which he had come. Somebody called for him, with words that Morr couldn't quite catch, and the skaven replied shakily.

"N-not-not!" He said. "N-nobody! But let me see-see better!"

There was a brief answer, to which Throttle nodded, swallowing. Then turned to him once again, and Morr started. There was a hungry light Throttle's little eyes, and it was directed at him.

Only in that moment he noticed the dagger in the paw of the skaven, and all the weight of the situation fell upon him.

Panting, trembling, he tried to push himself up. Pain exploded in his knee, and he fell down again with a squeak.

"You-you did a great job with those, yes-yes." Throttle observed, panting slightly, gaze darting to the fallen bodies of the wolf-rats, some of them still twitching even after death's hands had been laid over them.

Morr exhaled a trembling breath, feeling the cold of the floor meld with his own.

"Why are you-you here too?" He asked.

Throttle ignored him.

"But-but you couldn't have done-done this alone, no." He said, starting to advance cautiously toward him.

Clenching his jaw against the pain, Morr raised himself from the floor and rolled himself over. Flames seemed to lick where his blood kept on running out from him, and he barely managed to not squeak again.

He remained there, panting heavily. There was a terrible numbness radiating from his knee and along his leg.

"Where's he-he?" Throttle's voice was a shaky bark.

"I-i don't know what are you-you talking about."

"Lies! There was-was a black-fur with you-you. Where is it?"

Morr didn't answer, but, despite no wound having being laid upon him there, he felt his chest throb with pain.

With a pained whimper, he planted his elbows against the floor, and began to drag himself toward the wall and away from Throttle. He still clutched his long knife, and the hazelnut Skaven hesitated at seeing it.

Their gazes locked for a moment into each other, and Throttle's snout twisted with hateful anger.

"You've always been a stupid-idiot one." He spat. "With your working together stupid-stupid crap. Always thinking you could command, dd you? Well-well look where it has gotten you-you." He showed yellowed, broken teeth in a grin.

Morr brought himself to rest against the wall, sweat running into his fur. The knife trembled in his grip.

"But-but it worked, didn't?" He wheezed. "We worked better-better. Taking turns. Covering for each other. Pooling things together. We worked better than we would have done alone, yes-yes."

Throttle snarled, slashing the air with his knife.

"That's not-not how it works, you stupid-fool!"

Despite everything, his fury susprised Morr.

"What do you-you mean?"

Throttle lapped at his snout, his eyes flicking briefly at the knife that Morr raised before himself. There was an almost feverish light in them.

"Why do you-you think that the Tradelord has created this farce of a system, you fool-fool?"

"To make money, yes-yes. To squeeze our work." Was Morr's ready answer. He didn't know at what Throttle was aiming to, and that only added to the coldness in his vein.

Throttle nodded, an angry snarl escaping his lips.

"Yes-yes, but not only that! Not only that! It's to see who's the strongest!" He spread his arms wide, his voice raising like he wanted all the world to hear him. "Who's the true skaven between us-us! Who's that will understand! Who will refuse to serve! Who will show himself to understand where the true calling is-is!"

Morr blinked, his increasingly sluggish thoughts struggling to keep up.

"You-you mean…"

"To kill!" Throttle barked. He raised the knife before his face, angry light burning in his gaze. "Take-take another skaven and skever him! Stab him-him! Kill-kill him! Then they will see-see that you're better! Then they will see-see that you're a warrior!"

Suddenly, he jumped at Morr, screaming wildly. Caught by susprise, his heart leaping in his chest, Morr barely managed to catch the uncordinated slash with his own weapon. He lost his grip, though, and the knife flew away, clinking against the floor and ending spinning in the left corridor.

Throttle jumped back, his own weapon gripped with both arms. He was trembling wildly.

Slowly, almost with surprise, he watched Morr's bare paws.

A shaky snicker escaped from his mouth.

"Yes…" He murmured. "Yes!" He exclaimed, his snicker raising to a cackling. "I am a warrior! I-i am a warrior, yes!"

Morr watched him dumbstruck. He felt like someone had dumped ice in his veins and mud in his thoughts.

"I-i…!" Throttle began, grinning widely. "I understood too-too late what the right way to raise was, that to kill-kill was needed! When i was too-too old!" Despite his ecstatic tone, pain and regret flashed in his expression. "I… i thought that i wouldn't ever-never have another chance, and then… and then you came. So young, so stupid-naive. You still had-had the chance, you still could prove yourself, but you were so-so stupid!" He cackled, but in his laughter there was something that horrified Morr. "You-you were following the stupid rules, and i… and i… i hated you-you for it-it!" His tone turned to hateful anger. "You were-were young! You still could become a warrior, but you were too stupid-fool to understand the truth! You had what i wanted, what i deserved, and you were wasting it-it all! I heard it, you know. How you went-scuttled into the ruins alone. Stupid! Foolish! You had only to stick a knife in Lurk's back and the chieftain would have noticed you! He would have made you-you a warrior!" He said, feverishly. Morr could do nothing but watching him with his eyes wide.

Throttle pointed an accusatory finger against him.

"No! You had to be-be stupid! You-you have to be a fool! You had to make me hate you-you!" He admired the knife that he still clutched. "But no more of that now-now! No! Now Kabrik has noticed me! He has given me weapons! He has given me armor! He has given me a new chance! And you…" He turned his picked eyes to him. "You will be my tribute to him-him!"

Morr couldn't move. He felt like his body had become stiff as metal.

"Throttle…" He breathed, finding that even speaking cost him. "Old friend…"

"Silence!" Throttle waved his weapon in the air, his snout twisting in anger. "You had it-it! You had your chance! And you-you wasted it! Now die! Die and become fuel for the ascension of another! One that's better than you-you!"

Morr could only watch with mute terror as Throttle raised his knife high.

A feverish light burned into the hazelnut skaven's eyes as he stared him down.

"I have waited so-so long…"

The knife fell.

The sound of flesh getting pierced echoed into the corridor.

Morr opened eyes that he didn't remember of having closed and watched up. To the blackened stake that emerged from Throttle's chest.

The hazelnut skaven was staring at it too, almost with surprise.

Slowly, trembling, he turned his head around.

"B-but…"

His knife clinked on the floor.

"But this w-was… this w-was my…"

He watched Morr.

For a moment, their gazes locked.

"I have w-waited… my…"

His eyes glazed, and the skaven slumped by a side, his body barely making a sound as he touched the floor.

Morr watched him, a strange empty sort of daze taking his mind, then raised his head.

Gargant looked thoroughly mortified.

"I-i am sorry, brother." He grumbled.

Ignoring dazeness and exhaustion, Morr raised a shaky paw toward him. Surely he was dreaming. Surely his mind was playing jokes over him.

Still, as he pushed it forwad his paw found real fur, filthy bandages and cloth entangled in it, just like his brother would have had.

"You're returned."

That realization blossomed into his chest like someone had lit up a little fire inside of it, just as those words left his lips.

His brother had returned.

Exhaustion took his toll on him, and his arm fell back down. His thoughts swirled slowly, like pebbles into murky water.

Gargant was at his side in a moment, his paws fiddling about his knee. He was mumbling something under his breath, rapidly, but Morr couldn't quite understand what it was.

When the black-fur raised his head, Morr saw that his wounds were tightily bandaged with pieces of his cloth armor. He resistered with a ripple of fear the pool of blood under him, and the fact that despite looking tight, he couldn't feel the bandages on his skin.

"Let's go-go." Gargant said.

Morr watched him. There was something strange in his brother's eyes, an emotion that he couldn't actually understand.

"You've came back." He just said.

Gargant nodded.

"I am sorry."

"You came back."

"That i did."

Morr closed his mouth. He didn't know what else to say.

Searching for something, he glanced at his leg.

"I cannot walk like this."

"No matter." Gargant shook his head. "I will-will carry you."

"But…" He wanted to say that it was impossible, that with those two heavy books pulling him down, plus the big backpack that the blackfur already carried, he wouldn't ever be able to pull it off. Still, he didn't got the chance.

"I will carry you." Gargant's gaze was firm, and Morr realized that arguing was useless, especially because he felt himself not wanting to do it.

He just nodded.

Gargant left the spear, but gathered the knives, putting them all into his belt. Then, he knelt on the ground and gave his brother his back, gesturing for him to just hop in.

Morr hesitated. He knew that the pursuers were barely behind the corner, maybe just about to ask again what was happening, but, despite that, his eyes kept on going on the corpse that was strewn on the floor. He thought that it looked like he was just sleeping.

Under Gargant's quizzical glance, he extended a paw and grabbed the helm covering his head. As soon as he touched it, a little chorus of whispers murmured into his ears, like soft silvery bells, before disappearing once again. He remained like that for a moment, then took it out with caution, exposing the bald head that he had grown accostumed to see.

He clutched the helm at his chest, a feeling of ash in his mouth.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, he diverted his eyes, and moved toward Gargant. The black-fur felt steady as a rock as he climbed over his backpack.

"Steady?" Gargant asked when he stopped.

Morr nodded, before remembering that he could see him like that.

"Yes." He croaked.

"Good. Here-here we go then."

Morr had to grit his teeth as Gargant stood up, pain darting up his thigh. Still, his position was stable enough and he held easily.

The black-fur wobbled slightly under the weight, before ending in a firm stance.

Without a word, he started running.

By now, running through those ruins had become something of aquired for Morr. That time, though, it felt like he was leaving something behind, to enter in something completely new and unknown. In a way, it felt like leaving a cave full of gas, just to scuttle inside a tunnel that ended in darkness.

For a bit, the only sounds that he heard were Gargant's hurried steps and his steady breathing. Busy with dealing with the tangle of emotions in his chest, the silence suited him well.

"Brother?" Gargant mumbled suddenly.

"Mh?"

"I am sorry."

"Yes, you already said-squeaked that."

"I am sorry."

"…"

"Brother?"

"I don't get you-you, you know?"

"Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry."

"Sorry."

"…Oh, forget it-it. Do you-you have something to eat?"

"Oh, ye-ye. The pocket in the back."

"This one? It's empty, yes-yes."

"Look better."

"Oh, there's really something. Sniff sniff, what's this? It smells good-good."

"It's cheese, done from the man-things of Bretonnia. Try it-it."

"Mmmh… hey, it's really good! Where did you take this?"

"…kind of a long story."

"Ye-ye, alright, that's ok."

Another moment of silence fell between them as Morr fed upon the hard cheese and Gargant focused on the road ahead.

"Bro?" Morr murmured after a while.

"Yes?"

"Can i ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you think that… being skaven, it could possibly be a curse?"

"…"

"Gargant?"

"Dunno, brother. I am sorry."

"Yeah, i suppose that only the Horned Rat knows the answer, yes?"

"Is that so."

"Hey."

"What?"

"Stop calling me only brother. Call me-me Morr too."

"Ok… sorry."

"And stop saying-squeaking sorry."

"Sorry."

A sigh.

Morr laid his head on his brother's back, trying to take a bit of rest. His mind was calm now, or at least, as calm as exahustion could bring. His emotions were a tangled into a knot that it would need a lot of time to actually understand, but for that there would have been time. For now, he just listened to the steady beat of Gargant's breath and let his battered body relax. Still, an impression sticked over him, the shadow of a memory of nights passed into a filthy hole into the ground, cuddled against that same fur, listening to that same strong, pulsing heart. He had the impression of something snapping into place, like a door finally shut over a cold morning, after a freezing night, and he relished it, letting it lull him sweetly.

Kabrik got up from having knelt before the corpse.

"Throttle." He said, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Standing behind the chieftain at a respectable distance, Crenk grunted.

"He tried to get-get all the glory for himself. Said-squeaked to the boys that he hadn't found nothing-anything." He said, almost impressed with the little skaven's resourcefulness. He hadn't thought that he could be so ballsy.

Letting his paw pass over dull hazelnut fur, Kabrik nodded.

"He tried his-his best." His gaze moved to the spear still embedded into the corpse. "Through the ribs, through the heart and cleanly coming through the other side-side." He observed. "This black-fur knows his stuff. He didn't even glance the bones-bones"

Kabrik nodded with approvation.

"And from behind, yes-yes. A good-good shot."

The chieftain didn't answer, looking thoughtful.

Crenk felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on an end, and subtly took a half-step back. He knew that atmosphere, like there was a storm brewing, just out of sight. The chieftain was angry.

"Chieftain! Chieftain, yes-yes!"

Crenk let out a mental sigh of relief as a clanrat came scuttling toward them. Better to have an underling at arm lenght when that tense silences came up.

Slowly, almost deliberately, the Chieftain turned to address him. The clanrat, maybe because of something that he pied up, or maybe because he wasn't as stupid as he looked, esitate for a moment, before crouching before the chieftain, puzzle and tail held respectufully down.

"G-great chieftain, mighty-strong warrior and destroyer of no-furs and traitor-furs, a-allow this unworthy servant to-to…"

Crenk grimaced slightly. First rule when the chieftain is angry: do not waste his time. He had passed enough time by his side, and seen enough underlings ending as stains on the floor, to understand that. This messenger was lucky to have something to say.

"Get to it."

The clanrat shuddered, his mouth snapping shut like a bear trap.

"W-we found-smelled the trail, chieftain! I-i have…"

"Where?"

Crenk had to repress a grin. Not the moment to try and accrue merit to himself.

The clanrat nervously lapped at his snout.

"T-they scuttled-ran toward the eastern corridors, yes-yes! They…" He abruptly interrupted himself, terror flashing in his eyes.

Crenk made to divert his eyes, but, to his slight surprise, the chieftain turned and marched off.

He glanced at the kneeling messenger, that looked almost surprised of being still alive, before following.

"They are going-running toward the depths of the ruins, yes-yes." He said after what it felt the right amount of time.

Kabrik didn't answer.

Taking that as his cue, Kabrik whistled.

The stormvermin of the retinue repli swiftly, barking order to the rest of the clanrats to be ready to move out.

"We can follow them-them, but it could be risky, yes-yes. The scavengers said-squeaked that the dead-things are acting up-up."

Again, no answer.

Kabrik stopped at the entrance of the corridor that the duo had allegedly taken in their escape.

Crenk did the same, at a respectful distance. He glanced at the chieftain, trying to pick up his mood.

Yep. Angry. Very very angry.

"Crenk." Kabrik's voice was a deep rumble.

"Yes, master."

"I-i want their pelts-furs for my shrine."

"Yes, master."

"Just for a little bit. We-we'll follow them just for a little bit-bit. Then we'll be-be back for the important things. Alright?"

"Yes, master."

Crenk didn't have to glance to immagine the bloodshot look of the chieftain's eyes in that moment.

Showing back his concerns about all that story, he looked behind. The column was assembled and ready to go, the packmaster already assembling his remaining pets for the chase.

There was no signal or cry. The chieftain, without even looking behind, just raised a paw and gestured forward.

And the hunt was on.

Gargant smelled them first.

It was a terrible mix of urine, rank animal musk and rotten meat. He didn't even know how in the hell it was even possible for such things to actually exist so close together, but, after all, it wasn't like that the wolf-rats had any right to be a living thing in the first place.

Glancing behind his shoulder, he saw the sleeping snout of his brother. Morr had fallen asleep fast, proof of how much blood he had lost, and of what he had endured.

As always, Gargant felt a knot of conflicting emotions rising in his chest, and, as always, he pushed it back. He had to remain lucid, now more than ever. He didn't oppose the stab of guilt, though. He deserved it.

Reaching for his back, he tested the strenght of the ropes that tied his brother to him. They were solid. Good. He was happy of having stopped to make those knots. Time well spent.

Returning to the matter at hand, he perked up his ears. Yes, he could hear them.

Chittering and howling, barking and snarling. It sounded like a chorus of horrible rats, distorted against their own nature. And, well, that was what it was.

Bah. Nasty things.

He gave a look to the mental map that he had put together during his forays in those ruins. If he remembered correctly, that way brought to an old bridge and, beyond it, to the unexplored part of the ruins.

Taking a breath, Gargant increased the rythm of his scuttering jog. There was no need to rush. He could feel their pursuers getting close, but they would need a bit of time to actually catch up; and he was confident enough that, after losing their first group of wolf-rats, whoever was in command would use the rest more sparingly, keeping them tight on the leash until they had a good visual on them. Those things were expensive enough to warrant a good use of them.

Well, that was his hypotesis, at least. He couldn't be completely sure of it, but he had to conserve his stamina anyway; so, there it was.

No use in overthinking, though. He was confident enough that, once in the unexplored parts of those ruins, they would give up the chase.

If something different would happen, well, he would deal with it when it happened.

Gargant kept his breath to a steady rythim, sucking in air through his large nose. He kept his chest relaxed, and he used his diaphragm to push out and pull air in.

His heart pumped strong and his mind was clear. He could feel his muscles contract, following steadily and without mishaps his orders, as well as the strenght that flowed through them.

He could do this. No use in fretting.

Still, again, he felt a strange anxious feeling at the bottom of his stomach.

Strange. What it could be?

The arms of his brother around his neck moved slightly as Morr mumbled something in his sleep.

Ah, that's what it was. It was the first time for him to escape while having someone with him. Someone to protect.

Gargant mphed. Life sure could be strange.

Three hundreds heartbeats later, the chittering howls raised of intensity.

Gargant frowned. They had released the rat-wolves?

Wondering what was behind so much eagerness to catch them, he reached for one of the pockets of his backpack, and took a little bundle out of it. A bit of regret rippled through him as he raised it over his head. If only he had had a little more time before the first assault, his brother wouldn't have ended up as wounded as he was.

Thinking that, he threw the bundle behind himself, listening at its wet splat as it collided with the floor.

A piece of meat drenched in an extract of vinegar, alcool and wolfsbane. At the best, one of those curs would gulp it down and die; at the worst, they would just take a good sniff and have their noses disarranged for a bit. However it went, they would earn a few precious moments to reach the bridge. Wolf-rats weren't good at much, just sniffing, eating and mauling.

Fifty heartbeats later, a chorus of whines gave him confirm that at least the worst had happened.

He grinned, and decreased his gait slightly.

Another one hundred heartbeats later, he realized without doubt that, despite having slowed the hounds down, his pursuers were catching up too fast. He could almost make out their rushed steps.

Feeling no need to look behind, Gargant wondered what the reason of all that was.

A little clanrat, barely a little more than a ratling, defying a chieftain on a matter of workposts. And then, that same chieftain pushing what it probably was his entire retinue in a relentless chase of that same clanrat, arriving even to sacrifice an entire pack of wolf-rats to catch him?

He could understand the need to maintain one's respect, it was, after all, often the difference between a succesful commander and a dead one, but this was beyond reckless. It was a unreasonable waste of critical resources. It didn't make any sense.

Except if Morr hadn't told him all the truth.

He pushed back that thought with distaste. He really couldn't be the one blaming others for lies and keeping secrets.

After one hundred heartbeats, thanks to his knowledge of the pathways, he had managed to put some distance between himself and his pursuers once again.

Still, and that wasn't good, he was starting to feel the whispers of the dead-things forming into the air.

Gargant clenched his jaw, and accelerated.

After another seventy-five heartbeats, the first pursuers came into view.

"There he is-is!"

"Kill-kill! Quick-quick!"

Gargant glanced behind the time necessary to take stock of them.

Clanrats in black and light attires. Three of them, with one belonging to a clear superior rank. Probably Eshin Night Runners and a Nightleader. They wielded throwing stars and swords.

Feeling slightly impressed by the size of Kabrik's connections, Gargant accelerated slightly.

He counted up to five, then abrubtly moved by a side. The throwing stars aimed for his legs ended up on clinking on the floor or just slashing the air.

Without stopping, he reached for one of the knife at his waist. Reciting an excuse to his brother for losing his suff, he spinned and threw it against the Nightleader, then returned to run. There was a sound of metal against metal, together with a startled squeak.

Gargant nodded when he felt the rapid steps of his pursuers stop. Nothing good as a close encounter with death to make even a leader pause. And if the leader paused, the underlings did the same.

Fear was a powerful tool.

Using those precious moments, he managed to disappear from the sight of the trio.

Still, too close. And the whispers were intensifing.

The following one hundred heartbeats were spent attempting to restabilish as much distance as possible between him and his pursuers.

Morr murmured something, and Gargant, focused on the chase, vaguely wondered what he was dreaming, and if it was pleasant.

He puffed. Well, there was to hope that at least he would wake to something pleasant.

Gargant kept on running, but, during the long moments that followed, it became increasingly obvious to him that his advantage, instead of increasing, was diminishing more and more. And this time, he heard the clanking of armors together with the sounds of rushed steps.

There was only so much he could do while weighted down by his brother and both their bags at the same time, he was painfully aware of that. The whispers crowded his ears like a sea wave.

Still, he pressed on.

He was starting to feel the fatigue settle in, when he turned a corner, and the bridge suddenly appeared before his eyes.

It was a rickety, wonky thing, made of rotten planks barely held together across a great crevasse. He could hear the sound of running water coming from down.

Relieved, Gargant threw away any attempt to keep his stamina and broke into a dash.

He was almost at its entrance, when a great shape jumped out of the brim of the crevasse.

Moving out of instinct than aything else, Gargant threw himself at the ground, and, the halberd slash aimed to take his head passed a hair breath from his brother's books.

Gargant didn't stop, rolling over to get back up. As he moved, he saw flashes of a heavy armor, leaving to see only black fur and scars where it didn't cover, and two bloodshot eyes over a rodent snout.

A blow reached him at his midsection, and he stiffened his muscles, barely managing to absorb the blow without ending flat again.

He jumped back, drawing his second knife barely in time to deflect a mailed fist that would have broken his skull.

He stopped at good distance, sizing up his opponent.

He was a giant of a skaven, heavily armed and armored. A glance was enough for Gargant to understand that he was completely outmatched.

Still, he kept his weapon high.

For a moment, they faced each other, the giant skaven blocking the pass for the bridge. At the edge of his senses, Gargant could hear the sounds of the rest of the pursuers getting close, mixing with the angry choir of the whispers. He pushed both at the margins of his awareness, focusing on the enemy in front of him.

He and his opponents' gazes locked, and to his surprise, he saw a flash of surprised recognition pass through them.

It lasted just for a moment, then a terrible anger replaced it, and the skaven let out a roar and attacked, his halberd held high.

Gargant crouched, ready to spring and fight.

Suddenly, the whispers exploded into a maelstrom of cacophony, their angry voices raising to a frenzied high-pitch. Caught by susprise, Gargant stumbled, his balance lost for a moment as a white fog crowded with angry faces covered his vision. Through it, he saw the shape of his opponent stumble under the same assault.

Gritting his teeth, Gargant focused his will, and threw himself half-blindly forward. He impacted against his opponent's shape, pushing him by a side, and dashed beyond, toward the bridge. The planks were slippery, and Gargant had almost to guess their positions as he jumped forward. The sound of rushing water from under his feet mixed with the screams, and he swayed and wobbled, but still managed to push forward.

His paws rushed to frantically unknot the ropes that held Morr, and, when he came loose, he grabbed his brother between his arms.

Then, suddenly, he heard the sound of ropes getting cut behind him. Out of instinct, barely seeing, he threw Morr forward, just a moment before that the ground gave way under his feet.

He flailed wildly, before his paws managed to get a grip of one plank. Air rushed against him, followed by something hard and compact smaghino against him. Gargant barely managed to maintan his grip, and remained there, with the legs dangling over nothing.

Wheezing, gritting his teeth, he swung his legs until they found another plank to which to stand. Slowly, ignoring the pain blossoming in his body and the voices screaming in his ears, he pushed himself up, scaling plank after plank, angry determination burning in his chest. Suddenly, his feet slided over slippery wood and he was almost about to lose his grip, when a paw grabbed his arm and began to pull him up weakly.

Aided by it, Gargant found back his grip and returned to rise. The ladder ended and his paws found solid ground, upon which he threw himself with a last effort. He remained there, with his back over cold earth, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Between the cacophony of the voices, he recognized one in particular, a whiny, chittering voice that he had almost got used to hear.

Crenk found the chieftain standing before the edge of the crevasse. He watched across the abyss. The remains of the bridge hung down from the other side, swinging slighly like a oversized ladder.

Glancing warningly to the rest of the retinue, not like it was needed, as they looked exahausted, Crenk made his way to him.

Kabrik was more hunched than usual, like there was a great weight hanging over him. His gaze, that Crenk had seen overflowing with anger and hate, showed only tiredness now as he looked across the crevasse.

Crenk waited for him to talk.

"It was really him… really him…" The chieftain murmured after a while, looking like he was talking to himself.

"Do you-you believe in destiny, Crenk?" He asked suddenly.

Crenk folded his arms before his chest. With Kabrik, he had learned by now that it was useless to ask questions.

"Never thought about it-it, chieftain." He said. "For me, it's just my-my weapon, food-meat and the enemy."

Kabrik mphed.

"Maybe you are the-the one that is in the right." He spat beyond the edge. When he turned, his eyes had retaken his usual shine. "Let-let's go back. This game has lasted long enough."

Crenk nodded dutifully, but left his pleased smirk show. He knew that the chieftain would understand it anyway.