You have no doubt noted already the poor condition and unpleasant coloration of this missive. I am sorry to report that this is due to it being written in my own blood, as no other writing liquid is readily available at the moment. I am sending you this note with the mailbird I retrieved from Andrew Carrie’s equipment (please do give his young lady on Turnways Lane my condolences) and I hope most dearly that it finds its way to a sorting station that can send this note on to you. After dispatching of several of the creatures mentioned in my last missive, we stumbled upon their nest. In retrospect, we should have known it was a poor idea to venture inside, but hindsight, alas, is of little use to the dead. The creatures displayed a level of intelligence they had not previously shown by hiding in various nooks and crannies of their cave, allowing them to attack us from behind and cut off our route to the exit. The battle was a long and fierce one, and in the end I was the only living thing, human or not, left in the cave. I am currently trying to track where our pack-mule ran off to, in the hopes that it might carry me to safety before I bleed out from these accursed scratches, but in the event that I am unsuccessful, I apologize. Sgd. Your tired Son, Joseph Edwards