Fire rakes the skies
from the dragon's maw.
On wings of death he flies
no one knows his flaw.
Armored above and below
he flies with vengeance hot.
The weakness a small bird knows,
but know this, the dragon does not.
An arrow flew, straight and true
embedding to its black hilt.
The great wyrm this arrow slew,
the balance of power did tilt.
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