A weather-lined man who moves with economical grace earned from decades atop wagon benches. He favors no grand gestures; instead his presence arranges a small pocket of calm — the smell of leather, dust baked into sleeves, and the faint tang of pipe tobacco. His right forearm is circled by a pale scar that looks almost braided where old rope burns and healed laced together. He keeps one finger always stained with ink from tally marks, as if numbers cling to him. Unexpectedly, he wears an ornate silk scarf beneath his heavy coat; the scarf is bright teal and embroidered with tiny caravans in silver thread, a contradiction to his otherwise practical, muted garb.