Aevin is compact and spry, shoulders rounded from years bent over benches and tables. They wear round spectacles that sit perpetually crooked on a freckled nose; the lenses are perpetually smudged with fine dust and ink. Their hands are a study in contrasts: stubby, callused thumbs from carving and ink-stained, nimble fingers from writing and drafting maps. Their posture favors a slight forward lean, as though perpetually listening to a map or whispering wood grain. Movement is quick and precise — a hop-step in place, a soft tap of a foot when thinking. Unexpectedly, Aevin keeps one eye always wider than the other, the left ringed with a faint silvery scar that tightens when they concentrate. They often trail tiny wood shavings behind them, like breadcrumbs of their trade.