Growing tired, barely walking
Walking over this sweet grave
Winds grew bolder, bruised my shoulder
Not much left to say

Sweet and spare now, holy sparrow
Singing softly outside
When it’s colder, we’ll feel older
Not much left to hide

In the old times, we made up rhymes
To sing ourselves to sleep at night
It was wild means, singing horse dreams
Did nothing wrong and nothing right

We are breathing, we are seething
We are hardly underway
We have high hopes like the old popes
Even St. Peter’s bones decay

-“St Peter’s Bones” -Girlyman

This turned out unexpectedly melancholy.  Ah well.

Just a Bagginshield sketch I did while listening to the song on repeat.  For aaaaaages.  @_@

Snow Balls

I told you this wasn’t going to go in the direction you thought :) I hope you guys like it! I’m still taking prompts so feel free to leave a word in my ask that you want me to base a story off of. I’ll also do Durincest, so yeah here’s the story! 
Fresh snow is enticing, even to the toughest of dwarves.

Keep reading