Brim-Whisker moves like a shadow with copper dust in its wake. Their fur is short and mottled—smoky grey with smears of dull ochre where ore has stained them—and it stands a hair higher along the spine when they’re alert. Brim wears a heavy leather harness riddled with pockets, a bandolier for chisels, and a patched, hooded cloak sewn with scraps of bright tradecloth on one sleeve; the other sleeve is plain and singed. When they walk, they favor the balls of their feet, bouncing slightly as though listening for echoes beneath the earth. Unexpectedly, their left hand is ink-stained with a series of tiny runic scratches rather than calluses, and when they laugh, a high, almost human chortle slips out between catlike purrs.