A lean man with softened calluses and bark-like lines tracing his forearms as if the forest made notes on his skin. He moves with the easy attention of someone used to balancing on roots and low branches, deliberately steady but quick when curiosity pricks him. His cloak smells faintly of damp leaves and beeswax. Unexpectedly, he keeps one polished brass telescope slung at his hip, an odd glint of city craft against his woodland aesthetic. When he laughs his whole face opens, but when he listens he tilts his head like a bird. Small sprigs of moss are braided into his belt and occasionally sprout tiny white flowers that wilt if removed.