Broad-shouldered and squat with the slow certainty of someone who hauls hay before dawn. His beard is braided into three thick ropes that end in simple iron rings; each ring bears a tiny engraved mark representing a field, a wife, and a lost brother. The skin around his knuckles is scarred and callused, a map of weather and old tools. He moves with a farmer's economy of motion yet can pivot into a sudden, efficient strike. Unexpectedly neat fingernails reveal that he still keeps careful hands for grafting rootstock. When he laughs, it comes out a short puff, more of a snort, and his left eyebrow twitches like a metronome.