The Hobbit

They removed northward higher up the shore; for ever after they had a dread of the water where the dragon lay. He would never
     again return to his golden bed, but was stretched cold as stone, twisted upon the floor of the shallows. There for ages his
     huge bones could be seen in calm weather amid the ruined piles of the old town. But few dared to cross the cursed spot, and
     none dared to dive into the shivering water or recover the precious stones that fell from his rotting carcase.
    But all the men of arms who were still able, and the most of the Elvenking’s array, got ready to march north to the Mountain.
     It was thus that in eleven days from the ruin of the town the head of their host passed the rock-gates at the end of the lake
     and came into the desolate lands.

Chapter
XV
THE GATHERING OF THE CLOUDS
    Now we will return to Bilbo and the dwarves. All night one of them had watched, but when morning came they had not heard or
     seen any sign of danger. But ever more thickly the birds were gathering. Their companies came flying from the South; and the
     crows that still lived about the Mountain were wheeling and crying unceasingly above.
    “Something strange is happening,” said Thorin. “The time has gone for the autumn wanderings; and these are birds that dwell
     always in the land; there are starlings and flocks of finches; and far off there are many carrion birds as if a battle were
     afoot!”
    Suddenly Bilbo pointed: “There is that old thrush again!” he cried. “He seems to have escaped, when Smaug smashed the mountain-side,
     but I don’t suppose the snails have!”
    Sure enough the old thrush was there, and as Bilbo pointed, he flew towards them and perched on a stone near by. Then he fluttered
     his wings and sang; then he cocked his head on one side, as if to listen; and again he sang, and again he listened.
    “I believe he is trying to tell us something,” said Balin; “but I cannot follow the speech of such birds, it is very quick
     and difficult. Can you make it out Baggins?”
    “Not very well,” said Bilbo (as a matter of fact, he could make nothing of it at all); “but the old fellow seems very excited.”
    “I only wish he was a raven!” said Balin.
    “I thought you did not like them! You seemed very shy of them, when we came this way before.”
    “Those were crows! And nasty suspicious-looking creatures at that, and rude as well. You must have heard the ugly names they
     were calling after us. But the ravens are different. There used to be great friendship between them and the people of Thror;
     and they often brought us secret news, and were rewarded with such bright things as they coveted to hide in their dwellings.
    “They live many a year, and their memories are long, and they hand on their wisdom to their children. I knew many among the
     ravens of the rocks when I was a dwarf-lad. This very height was once named Ravenhill, because there was a wise and famous
     pair, old Carc and his wife, that lived here above the guard-chamber. But I don’t suppose that any of that ancient breed linger
     here now.”
    No sooner had he finished speaking than the old thrush gave a loud call, and immediately flew away.
    “We may not understand him, but that old bird understands us, I am sure,” said Balin. “Keep watch now, and see what happens!”
    Before long there was a fluttering of wings, and back came the thrush; and with him came a most decrepit old bird. He was
     getting blind, he could hardly fly, and the top of his head was bald. He was an aged raven of great size. He alighted stiffly
     on the ground before them, slowly flapped his wings, and bobbed towards Thorin.
    “O Thorin son of Thrain, and Balin son of Fundin,” he croaked (and Bilbo could understand what he said, for he used ordinary
     language and not bird-speech). “I am Roäc son of Carc. Carc is dead, but he was well known to you once. It is a hundred years
     and three and fifty since I came out of the egg, but I do not forget what my father told me. Now I am the chief of the great
     ravens of the Mountain. We are few, but we remember still the king that was of old. Most of my people are abroad, for there
     are great tidings in the South—some are tidings of joy to you, and some you will not think so good.
    “Behold! the birds are gathering back again to the Mountain and to Dale from South and East and West, for word has gone out
     that Smaug is dead!”
    “Dead! Dead?” shouted the dwarves. “Dead!