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Oin made up some verses in his head now, as he wanted to keep on going:
In the Dwarvish halls,
They sit, and they sing,
Though the language be course
And their voices don’t ring
They sing of proud endings,
And of all that has past
From the very first time
To what is now last
Of battles and wars
They sing of not few
For our race has fought
From the time it was new
Ever we fight
For what we hold dear,
And for what we long after
We shed many a tear
The songs go on
And sing of the peace
That came after war
Though it be brief
The death did ensue
And quickly it brought
Many a sadness
And vengeful thought
The Dwarves have fallen
And now have become
A race that hides
And from the world does shun
We hold to our wealth
And greedily seek
To gain ever more,
To stop any leak
Though my song be course
And my rhyme doth fail
I hope you enjoy it
And think it worthy and hale
As Oin finished, he grabbed a glass of water from Finky's hand and quaffed it. He was spent, and hoped that his efforts would be pleasing to the other geusts at the Inn.
He noticed that the old, wizened lady who he and Finky had encountered today was enjoying his rhythms. He went over and asked, "Did you like my songs? I made up the last one, and I believe I may have to hear another's song before I can think of any more verses to sing. I hope you are happy after getting your task with the cart done?"
"I really liked the songs, you spry young rhyming Dwarf! I got my cart out of harm's way too, and I hope to never get it stuck in that same place again. I am happy now, listening to these songs in here, too." replied the lady Ruthven.
"Good, good. I hope to hear some more songs, too." said Oin, and promptly sat down to rest.
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