Gloín sat back with an easy laugh. He had left a group of young dwarves in the hands of his son Gimli, decorating the Grand Hall in preparation for the Mid-Winter celebration. Small, colored cut gems twinkled discretely from the mantle and sides of the large hearth, ready to sparkle as if on fire themselves when a fire was lit. Gilded adornments shone from the walls. The table glowed with sculptures created for this occasion.

He had soon returned to find instead twenty-four dwarves dancing, as the rest watched gleefully. Well, was this not a time to be grateful for one's gifts? Gloín had an admirable son, who was at this moment attempting to demonstrate skill in an elaborate dance. Ah, well, he was better at leading a group into battle than in following intricate steps to music. Gloín would be grateful for that.