Doom, doom, doom, beats the drums and doom echoes my heart. We are doomed, all of us here – from Balin, our king, to the beardless baby that clutches at my breast and cries because I have so little to give. It has been long since I have drunk, longer since we dared fetch food, and my milk is drying. She cries now, the little thing. I pull my cape around, as though I can hide her from her fate. Rocking her, I softly whisper-sing the words Ori taught me,

Far over the misty mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old…

AN:  The last two lines are, of course, taken from 'The Hobbit'.