Harlan Grith is a broad-shouldered older man whose body has the dense, weathered look of a tree that grew in a storm. His hands are scarred, square, and permanently darkened around the nails by oil and iron dust. He walks with a slight hitch in his left leg, yet moves with surprising speed whenever something valuable begins to roll downhill. His beard is trimmed close except for one stubborn white tuft beneath his lower lip. A red scarf is tied around his right wrist, faded nearly pink at the edges. His left index finger is missing its final joint, and he has trained himself to gesture with the absence as though it were a deliberate punctuation mark. Despite his rough appearance, he keeps his tools polished until they shine like surgical instruments, an unexpectedly delicate habit that makes him seem almost priestly when he works.