Erebor stood tall, Erebor weathered the storm.
We drove the bastards back and cut down many as they trampled each other in their panicked rout; I knew the Dalemen were worth their weight in Mithril, but seeing their cavalry run those demons down after all they had put us through...Words cannot describe the brotherhood that formed between us beards and these manlings, they are the closest friends I will ever have outside of my kindred.
The time for rebuilding is upon us, a great duty befalls on us all. We must bury the fallen with the honour and respect that they all deserve. Every Dwarf deals with the losses differently, yet even those without a cut did not get out of the battle unscathed. The burden of victory is heavy; brothers, cousins, fathers and sons closed their eyes. They will only to wake again when Mahal calls.
I nearly lost an arm and did lose some teeth when I tried to headbutt one of the foes and was met with a knee instead, BUT my bagpipes survived it all- a bloody miracle!
Sometimes, late at night, when the faces of the lost come to me and I cannot take their loss, I climb up to a secluded spot out of the mountain and look to the moon. Silently, I play my bagpipes as the river flows and stops only with the coming of the dawn.
My fallen brothers; we will see each other again in the halls of Mahal. Until that time, we, the living, must carry on the struggle.
Umhûdizu tadaizd ku’ adrûthîzd, Mahal , murukhîzd udu charach bakhuzizu ra udnîn izd ana ghiluz nur.
