The Dwarf trodded along quietly until they came to a halt. He sat on his shield, smoking his pipe, looking thoughtfully into the sky. He smelled the smell of home, and groaned as he saw who was drinking the Dwarven ambrosia. A knife-eared bastard, someone who couldn't appreciate wonder like that. A member of a race that had a life-span endless, yet by feeble minds and bodies had life expectancy shorter than goblins. He grumbled a little under his breath, stroking his beard. 

He quickly strolled around to see what was up for grabs and subsequently ate it; he kept his own food for later. When he returned to sitting on his shield he looked to the few Dwarfs in the caravan, a series of nods starting between them.

One pulled out a flute, then another a horn, and so Oid stood up with his shield and grabbed his pickaxe in one hand, and started banging it for a beat.

'Let's have a song, with a fancy rhyme!'
'Very well, but what's the time?' 
'Four-four, for this wonderful song.'
'Aye, we'll need it, 'tis a journey long!'


Oid grinned happily, and kept along with the 4/4 time they had decided upon, providing the last line.


'Speed it up! The journey will seem faster!' 
'What, with such a wazzock of a caravan master?' 
'Oh sod him, he's a bastard both large and at large!'
'Bah! We can take him down if we need, all his sods have got is sword and targe!' 

'Let's have a song, with a fancy rhyme!'
'To keep our spirits up, going through this muck and grime!'
'We've got a shield, a Dwarven one's better than a gong!'
'Aye, we'll need it, 'tis a journey long!' 

'A toast, a toast! To our health and coin!'
'Aye, we'll be great just like Thorin's Oin and Gloin!'
'We'll make it to the end, do not be fashed!'
''n' if we do nay, well runts'll have been smashed!' 

'Let's have a song with a fancy rhyme!' 
'Bugger them asking for sleep, singing's not a crime!'
'The night is still young, we're singing strong!'
'Aye we need it, 'tis a journey long!'