Smaug shifted. Gold cascaded like a waterfall of bones. “They sent you for the Arkenstone, yes? Pretty little light-giver. Do you know what happened to the last creature that tried to take it?” The dragon’s lips curled back from teeth like swords. “He is still here. Somewhere. Under all this shine.”
But the worst came after. As Bilbo fled, the dragon rose, his belly glowing furnace-bright, and whispered something Bilbo would never forget: El Hobbit 2- La desolacion de Smaug
“You’re thinking too loud, burglar,” Thorin Oakenshield muttered beside him, his blue cloak tattered, his eyes fixed on the Lonely Mountain’s shadow across the water. “Save your fears for the mountain. Smaug does not care for your conscience.” Smaug shifted
The dragon lay half-buried in gold, one yellow eye cracked open, the pupil a vertical slit of ancient malice. When Bilbo stepped on a coin—just one—the sound echoed like a scream. Pretty little light-giver
It was what Smaug’s awakening would call forth from the dark.
That night, they entered the hidden passage. The darkness was not empty. It had teeth. Bilbo felt them scraping against the walls of his mind as he crept alone down the tunnel, the ring now on his finger, the world turned to grey shadow.