The dwarves gathered in their hidden camp, their faces grim. Bungo sat apart, shivering, the Arkenstone still in his pocket. He had not told them about it. He did not know why, but something held him back.
"The dragon knows we are here," said Thorin. "He will come for us. We cannot stay."
"Where can we go?" asked Balin. "He will find us wherever we hide."
Bungo spoke up, his voice small but clear. "The thrush," he said. "The thrush that knocked on the door. It heard what I saw inside. It saw the dragon's weak spot—the bare patch on his left breast, where the jewels had fallen away."
The dwarves stared at him. "A bare patch?" said Thorin. "You saw a bare patch?"
"I saw it," said Bungo. "The thrush saw it too. If someone could tell the people of Lake-town—"
But even as he spoke, they saw a terrible sight. The dragon had emerged from the Mountain. He was flying—great wings beating the air, his body gleaming red-gold in the sun. He was heading south, towards the lake.
"Lake-town!" cried Bard. "He's going to destroy Lake-town!"
They watched in horror as the dragon flew towards the town. They were too far away to do anything, too far to help. All they could do was watch—and hope.