[Imladris]

Ori wiped his face. Orc blood stained it and he could almost taste its vileness. Flori stood beside him and Ori said, “Fifty orcs slain.” He laughed and added, “And Balin dead as well. We never should have let him out alone. They must have known he was the leader of us.”

“There was nothing we could do about it,” said Flori, pain and guilt creasing his face. “We didn’t know how many there were.”

“Or how many there still are,” said Ori. He fell silent, remembering Balin, blood gushing from the heart. His face lifeless. He had heard that the dead looked asleep. Not so with Balin. The dead do not sleep…they are just there. A mangled corpse, bereft of warmth, deprived of life, a thing to be buried in the ground. Not so with Balin. They would lay him in a stone tomb under a shaft of pure light. Linsie and others would carve in dwarven runes Balin, son of Fundin lord of Moria. Ori laughed. When had he ever been lord of Moria? In spirit yes, but in reality the dark had ruled it. Minions of the deep held Khazad-dum within their filthy, bloody palms and the dwarves had been like children trying to take a coveted possession from a king.

Alas sorrow has come to Moria for yestreday being the tenth of Novembre lord of Moria fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirror mere. An orc shot him from behind a stone. We slew the orc, but many more…up from east up the Silverlode.

Ori turned the journal and let Flori read it, who shook his head and said, “Ori -- Oin found the raven…or the remains of it. His limbs were torn from him, his flesh eaten raw. It was a cruel death.”

Ori sighed and murmured, “So Dain has had no word from us for these last three months. We must leave this place at once. Flori, we must assemble the dwarves and leave here as quickly as we can.”