Thorin's Halls

-Praise along the road-

How gracious are thy Halls, Thorin Oakenshield!
High in your father's valley, the throne of your youth awaits.
The arms of your lineage shelter its people in the mountains;
They give warmth and new strength to the sons of Durin.

Already the slender squirrel, the wildcat and the young aurochs, 
In their garments of milk and snow, roam free on thy slopes.
He who returns home hastens his pace
When he savors the sweet nearness of thy halls.

The portly Dwarf licked the end of his quill, dropped it into a well of dark ink then set it to parchment:

Good Dwimmer,