...inch by inch, fangs gleaming in the desert sunset, kaleidoscopic patterns dancing as the scales rippled along. At the crest, the Ancient One paused to look back at the gathering of horses below, some still glancing about nervously, some mindful only of the inviting vegetation around them.
Further back in the clearing the carcasses of three such beasts were already rotting from the carnage, their whinnying silenced by a barrage of punctures, ruby riverlets congealed by the intense heat.
The Ancient One spread his mighty hood, bedecked with the symbol of his race, and looked toward the Valley of the Gargantuans. Uttering a single phrase, long forgotten by the warm-blooded, the Serpent lept into the air and streaked across the Heavens.
The elevation rose and the sky darkened, the Ancient One oblivious to the relentless chill. Through the portal he rocketed with a clap of Thunder, nostrils embracing the scent of centuries-old decay, mindful of hints belying the whereabouts of the Old. Ah, over there! Ponderous shadows against the low clouds, framed in orange from the heat of the iron works.
And thus the Serpent took his place inside the Ring of Fire, the Old nodding almost imperceptibly, and all was as Before.