"This," Carlisle says with a hint of pride and a lopsided smile, presenting his gift.

Immediately noticeable is the beastly head, that same kind of flat-headed, bear-and-tiger-had-a-child-and-it-ran-into-a-wall sort that adorns his own, enchanted cloak. Given the leather straps and the single, massive paw, it's clearly not an entire pelt like his cloak is, but rather something to drape around one's shoulders. Attached to the pelt is a faded capelet, one that has seen its fair share of long journeys. The garment takes up the entirety of Carlisle's lanky arms; there is no way this gear would fit someone of his stature.

The clergyman adjusts the strange piece in his grasp, righting the head and letting the long arm of the beast drape across his forearm, the straps dangling as he balances the oversized head in both hands. "Ta-da."