[piosenniel]

It was a full two days’ marching to reach the great hall which stood before the Eastern Gate. Along the way, other Dwarves’ hands had helped pull and push the handcarts filled with food and whatever supplies Riv and his companions had thought necessary for this venture. It had been a hasty gathering, their minds more on the task which lay ahead than on how their bellies might fare in the doing of it.

Riv paused on the threshold of the brightly lit chamber and scanned the various Dwarves who were going about their business. There, by the far wall - the one nearest the door, stood Bror, his eyes also scanning the small crowds as they came and went. Riv raised his hand, waving it in the air to catch his brother’s attention.

In a few quick steps, Orin and he and their small group had crossed the hall. The wooden wheels of their handcarts clattered on the paving stones, announcing their arrival.