“He doesn't fall like the others. Instead of blood pouring from his wound, red moths stream out, in to the air. They rush out of him so quickly that in a moment, the High King's body is gone and there are just those red moths, swirling up in to the air in a vast cloud, a tornado of soft wings. But whatever magic made them does not last. They begin to fall until they are scattered across the dais like blown leaves. The High King Eldred is, impossibly, dead.”
Book:The Cruel Prince
