He was coming back. It had been more than one hundred years since the holocaust at Erebor, more than one hundred years since she had spoken his name aloud. "Thorin," she whispered to the wind. She looked westward, able to just make out the stark pillar that was the Lonely Mountain. Did he really believe the portends? Could he possibly think he would find the legendary riches of Erebor unprotected? After all these years, would he listen to any warning? Though unsure he would even recall her name, she knew she would find no rest until she, at least, tried to tell him. One last time to the Lonely Mountain, this time not to charm the prince but to try and save a king.