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“When I was a squire young as you, I had a friend who was strong and quick and agile, a champion in the yard. We all knew that one day he would be a splendid knight. Then war came to the Stepstones. I saw my friend drive his foeman to his knees and knock the axe from his hand, but when he might have finished he held back for half a heartbeat. In battle half a heartbeat is a lifetime. The man slipped out his dirk and found a chink in my friend’s armor. His strength, his speed, his valor, all his hard-won skill â€� it was worth less than a mummer’s fart, because he flinched from killing.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Feast for Crows

“What is that,' Devlon asked.

Nesta merely stared at him, one hand clamping the edges of her grey cloak together at her chest. One of the other camp lords made some sign against evil.

'That,' Cassian said too quietly, 'is none of your concern.'

'Is she a witch?'

I opened my mouth, but Nesta said flatly, 'Yes.'

And I watched as nine full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched.

'She may act like one sometimes,' Cassian clarified, 'but no- she's High Fae.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin