The dragon crouched low against the hoard, its tail lashing, staring at them.

Not once did he look at Eragon as the dragon crouched, raised its wings, and flew off the plateau and into the north.

The iron-black dragon crouched, never moving, on the far side of the stream.

The dragon crouched like stone while they clambered down from its back and stood beside it.

It was then that he noticed the tiny dragon crouched in the shadows of a crevice right before his face.

The dragon crouched nearby, immense and reptilian, unblinking in the frigid night air.

The dragon was the size of a horse, and crouched in a way that was not quite threatening.

The dragon crouched immobile against the far rampart of the court.

The dragon shivered with the exposure and crouched inside the stove, eyes wide and questioning.

Red scales flashed and then the crimson dragon crouched there, ready to pounce after his golden foe.