Thalen appears as a tall, spare figure wrapped in layers of fitted ash-gray and oil-black cloth that look more engineered than sewn. His skin has the matte sheen of weathered stone, warm to the eye but cool to the touch. Fine silver lines, like blueprint marks or old cracks filled with quicksilver, thread across his forearms and collarbones. He moves with exact, economical steps, as if every motion has been measured and revised. The strangest thing about him is a halo of tiny brass rings that drift behind his head in careful orbit, yet he keeps one sleeve forever smeared with fresh grease like a working mechanic who has no respect for his own sanctity.