A dragon or nightwyrm twisted into a three-headed abomination such as had never been seen in Aglirta before.

She turned back fearfully, for her left arm still throbbed with memory, but there was no fire, and no dragon; only the black monstrous shape twisted round with leaves.

The dragon twisted away from beneath him, all but his tail--and the dracogriff seized the tip with a bite like a vise.

The dragon twisted his massive jaws a moment, did something with his tongue, spat out a large tooth.

The frailer dragon twisted and writhed, trying to escape the stone dragon's deadly grip.

The dragon twisted its wings, swung its huge bulk around on a pivot of air, and bore down on the roof.

The yellow-green dragon twisted his long neck and glanced back over his shoulder.

Even the wounded dragon groaned aloud and twisted his neck.

Shrieking in fury and pain, the red dragon twisted out of its captor's grasp, freeing itself but leaving a bloody chunk of flesh in its enemy's mouth.

Wyrmfather could not use its flame here, lest it destroy its own treasure; thus the dragon was twisting its head and neck all the way to the entrance of the chamber of treasures.