A lean young man with sun-creased skin and the permanent dust of fields in the creases of his clothes. His right shoulder bears a pale, puckered crescent scar that pulls slightly at his collar when he moves. He walks with a subtle hitch in his right leg, the limp almost rhythmic like a metronome. When he moves quickly he favors short, efficient strides; when he is idle his hands keep finding something to do — straightening a loose thread, wiping an invisible speck of dirt, running a thumb along the scar. Unexpectedly, he keeps a single bright blue glass bead tied inside the hem of his shirt over his heart, a childish thing that glints when he laughs.