"Abominations," Carlisle answers. "Creatures that are neither animal nor man, but some unfathomable tangle of limbs, with twisted skin stretched across its malformed frame."

He stoops, his body stiff as it struggles to make it to the ground; once there, he digs through his satchel and finds his journal, his hand shaking as he uncaps his pen and begins to draw a rough approximation of the creature that attacked him. He wasn't kidding about those limbs.