[Imladris]

A rasping horn echoed through the mountain crags: a horn whose cry bade what remained of the orcs back into the belly of Moria. Balin leaned on the head of his axe and wiped his brow. Corpses dotted the rocks in the bright sun of the dale. Flies crawled within the blood caked wounds while vultures, crows, and ravens, circled over head. Ori’s raven alighted upon one orc carrion and plucked at the mottled flesh, but spitted it out in disgust.

The dwarves themselves had gotten off fairly well. A scratch here and there, a gash upon some limb. Balin nodded with approval, but frowned when he saw a tattered blue rag flutter from behind a boulder. … it was Floi. The corpse of a troll at his feet. Balin praised the dead dwarf for the brave deed, and mourned that he had fallen. He was the first of the company.

They buried Flói under the grass beside Mirromere.