A small, sturdy human boy with sun-bleached blonde hair that never stays combed and clear brown eyes far too serious for his young face. He has a round, weather-freckled face, a crooked front tooth, and scraped knuckles from practicing with weapons that are still a little too large for him. His borrowed chain mail hangs heavily on his shoulders, and he keeps its collar wrapped in a strip of blue cloth from home.

Earnest, observant, and desperate to be taken seriously, Tavin tries to help before anyone asks. He is polite to strangers, suspicious of overly polished adults, and quietly fascinated by every road sign, old ruin, and unusual weapon he encounters. When nervous, he talks like an experienced campaigner until he runs out of facts and has to start guessing.

Tavin Pritchard grew up behind a riverside ferryhouse where everyone knew the sound of a wagon wheel, a bad storm, and a lie. He was too young to enlist properly, but the local watch captain let him carry messages, clean tack, and practice with discarded weapons after Tavin proved he could stay awake through an entire night watch. His first real lesson in fighting came when a frightened draft horse broke loose in the market. Tavin put himself between the animal and a trapped child, then discovered that courage felt much less impressive when a horse was trying to trample him. Now he has been sent on his first journey with a company of guards escorting supplies beyond the familiar roads. The captain gave him a battered suit of chain mail, an old greatsword that he cannot yet wield gracefully, and strict instructions to come home with all his fingers. Tavin pretends he is a seasoned soldier, but he still checks his pack three times before setting out and sleeps with one hand wrapped around his father's blue ferry cord. He wants to prove that being young means being unfinished, not useless.