Barek is a broad, weather-beaten man with a face that seems assembled from old travel gear: cracked leather around the mouth, sun-browned skin, and a nose bent slightly left from a mule kick. His remaining eye is dark brown and sharply watchful. The empty socket on the right is covered by a round brass plate stitched into a strip of faded blue cloth, though he sometimes removes it while working and lets the scar breathe. He moves with a former porter's economy, never taking two steps when one will do, and can lift a water jar with one hand while scolding someone with the other. His hands look brutal, knuckled and stained with iodine, but his fingers become astonishingly gentle around a torn eyelid or a frightened child. The unexpected thing about him is his neatness: every tool, rag, and cup at his station has a precise place, and he becomes visibly distressed when anyone rearranges them.