Jorek is a broad-shouldered man with the weathered, compact strength of someone who has hauled wet rope, stubborn cargo, and frightened passengers for decades. A fresh red scrape bleeds beneath his chin, though he never explains how it happened. His face is square and wind-chapped, with a flattened nose, deep creases beside his mouth, and one missing lower canine that shows when he speaks. His hands are scarred and permanently darkened around the nails by river tar. He moves with a boatman's rolling balance even on solid ground, swaying almost imperceptibly as though listening for the current beneath his boots. The unexpected softness is in his eyes, which are pale and patient, and in the tiny embroidered moth sewn inside his collar, a keepsake from his dead daughter. He leaves behind the impression of a mooring post in a storm: blunt, battered, and impossible to move.