The wyrm Yarram beset the Citadel of Omek at dusk. In the citadel a star of the heavens had been secreted in sacred vault. A hot wind swept over the mountain from the west and across the peak he flew, magnificent in his way, mighty, old, and terrible. His scales of burnished bronze caught the last rays of day and it was as if the sun had returned over the mountain top from the west to start the day anew. He plunged down upon the citadel like a meteor and the heroes died and the rest fled.
For uncounted days he sat in that fastness. His eyes burning like the sun.