The Dwarf narrowed his eyes at the odd folk and their manner of speaking. He had thought all men were familiar with Westron speech. It was the [i]tongue[/i] of men, after all. Even the people of Rohan often spoke it, and he was well traveled enough to have heard their soft, native language once or twice. 

Speaking of soft, a Hobbit and more Elves than he was happy about gathered round the clearing. 

At first Thurin wasn't entirely certain that he was going to travel with them. Why would he? He'd lived thus far, traveling on his own for reasons of his own. Though they were goodly folk compared to Orcs and Spiders, it did not mean he entirely trusted them after a simple hello. But then again, if they were headed to the same place, he supposed it would not hurt to trek deeper into the forest with a group for now.

Thurin snorted at the request of his name, but then grunted at the logic. He supposed it was purely pragmatic to ask his name if they were to walk together. If this had been a formal meeting he would have introduced himself off the bat. But he'd walked into the clearing with strung and drawn bows. 

His Dwarf name was always hidden, save around his kinsfolk. "Thurin Stonewrought, of the Longbeards and Khazad Dum." he said, giving a sweeping bow if only to show proper courtesy. Let none say the Dwarves were not polite when first meeting company. His dark beard was so long it swept across the ground, brushing fallen leaves. 

He then gave a secondary nod to the Halfling, to show he had respect for their peoples. His great grandfather had met and told stories of one Bilbo Baggins, and since then, Hobbits had always been welcome within the Stonewrought home. They were small and pillowy looking, but he'd heard they had great wanderlust like he himself had. A thirst for adventure, and a love of song.