The Fourth Attempt

Three times one of these feeble worms has tried to steal from him – he, Smaug, descendant of black Ancalagon! Now their bones lie scattered like the jewels they sought, and their blood leaves a pleasing stain on his treasures, the hue of red gold.

More of them are about now; he can smell the sneak-thieves' nervous stink. Dwarves, and something else he cannot place – not sickly elf, nor rancid man.

Whatever it is, here it comes now, pattering down the "secret" way. Smaug's tongue flickers in anticipation of tender meat. Come along, thief number four. I am ready for you.

[For Anglachel, who wanted anything involving the number 4, Denethor, and/or a dragon. Two out of three ain't bad.]