Tamu is a lean young adult with a steady, economical way of moving, placing each foot as if the ground might shift beneath it. Their dark hair is cut unevenly with a small knife and often catches flecks of pale ravine dust. They smell faintly of wet stone, smoke, and the bitter leaf oil they rub into their boots, a scent they have stopped noticing. Their work coat is too large at the shoulders and patched with careful, close stitches; its frayed red lining is kept improbably clean. Tamu's shadow sometimes seems to lag a heartbeat behind their movements, most noticeable in lamplight.

Tamu is alert and resourceful, but dislikes being praised for surviving. They are patient with frightened travelers and impatient with people who ignore obvious danger. When relaxed, they make dry jokes and share food; when anxious, they become brisk and turn every conversation into a list of tasks. They want to be independent, yet quietly hope someone will tell them they do not have to earn their place in the world.

As a child, Tamu was trapped in a ravine after a sudden rockfall buried the old goat path. A stranger found them and carried them out through a narrow cleft while the slope continued to break apart. Tamu remembers the stranger's coat, the rasp of his breathing, and a promise to come back; they were too feverish to remember his face. The rescuer was later reported dead, and Tamu grew up believing that the promise belonged to a ghostly kindness rather than a living person. Tamu now repairs footbridges and guides travelers through the ravine country. Their adoptive aunt, Nara, worries that Tamu takes needless risks trying to repay an unnamed debt. Lately, Tamu has seen a familiar silhouette in places where nobody stands, and has begun asking after the stranger. The rescuer has returned to life, but Tamu has not yet learned it.