That's an excellent reason not to go in there again. Galahad nods and opens the next door.

There's an inexplicable whirring sound and a blur of movent in front of them, which resolves into beetles. No, beetle wings, attached to tiny cats no bigger than a thumbnail -- hundreds and hundreds of them, flying, crawling, eating, because they are in the process of entirely denuding the large skeleton of a dragon from every scrap of flesh left on it.