From high it falls; a dawn coloured wind,
It falls.
With its heat we feel deaths chill;
Hunger unquenched, all-consuming.
Jaws hide in its breath, yet see it we do in the eye of mind and thought,
As it falls.

From high it comes; a flame of breath,
It comes.
Death touches our melting flesh;
Spreading, vanishing to ash.
Backs show as feet run, yet we see it still with eyes molten and charred,
As the beast comes.

Dragons Breath - by Voguin Darigol
- High Lord of Dargolyn
- year 104 B.W. (before-war)