Paroka Silkstride moves like a dropped ribbon caught in a warm draft, graceful and abruptly predatory. He is a tall tabaxi with smoke-gray fur banded by faint copper stripes, but the fur at his throat and forearms is white as kiln ash, as if he once passed through fire and came out purified. His face is narrow and elegant, with one torn ear that he keeps carefully cleaned and a small gold nose ring shaped like a ring of prayer beads. He wears layered monk's wraps of deep indigo and faded saffron, yet the fabric is stitched with tiny silver bells that never seem to sound when he walks. The strangest thing about him is the delicate scholar's spectacles perched on his muzzle, balanced by a rope of dried wolf teeth hanging at his belt. When he stands still, he looks almost fragile. The instant he moves, he seems carved from lightning.