[ Not far off and under the cradle of leaves and the weeping branches of a willow tree that coiled out of the shore a virgin spring like a great sea-creature there lay the wicked wyrm. Smaug's red and golden mass sleeping beneath her boughs almost in mockery of the gentle garden he laid claim to. For his part he was content to let the world around him roll on by as he slumbered. Snoring like the great tomcat he was with a noxious steam pouring from his parted maw.
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