Flori's arm was gone. Ori did not have much time to muse over the horrid fact, not even time to mourn the loss, before he saw the great cave troll enter the gates. Trolls that tore you limb from limb, that would squash people into jelly, fry them, chop them, put you into sacks. Ori shook his head...he could almost see Burt and the other trolls around the fire...but these trolls were not like those trolls...they were stained with blood and he could see the blood lust in their eyes.
They had lost the bridge. They could not combat the tide of orcs and the two trolls. Dimly he heard Flori shouting, "To the hall, dwarves of Moria!" He saw a dwarf fall, and wondered how many they had lost, whether Oin, Linsie, and Narin had made it safely to the West Gate...
Flori...how would he fight now? How would he defend himself? Ori felt a montrous panic rush up inside him and clutch at his throat. As he bounded up the stairs behind his brother, Ori wondered how long they would be able to hold the Chambers.
The Chamber of Records would be easily defended Ori hoped. But then again, the Bridge and the Second Hall was supposedly easy to defend as well...
The orcs rushed after them, grappling with them, trying to cut off their retreat. Ori fought them mechanically, keeping close to his brother. He felled the orcs almost mechanically, remembering Balin and the five good years they had had. And all the lost chances of escape that had been ignored...all the warning signs that had bid them leave...of the dwarves who had fallen...
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