Down he crept, through galleries piled with coins and cups, emeralds the size of fists, and suits of armor crushed like tin. And there, at the heart of it all, lay the dragon.
The dragon laughed. It was a terrible sound—furnace doors opening. “Lusinghe? From a creature no bigger than my ninth left claw? You amuse me. So I will let you live. For now.” Smaug’s head lowered, curling around a pillar of gold. “But tell me, little shadow. Did the thrush send you? Or the old ravens of the Lonely Mountain? No—you smell of Oakenshield.” The amber eye narrowed. “Thorin lives. How delicious.” lo.hobbit 2 la desolazione.di.smaug ita
“Bene,” rumbled the voice, low as an avalanche. “Un ladro. O forse… un regalo avvolto nel silenzio?” Down he crept, through galleries piled with coins