Short of stature, Edrin stands a little under 5'2" but has a presence that reads taller than his frame. His wild, white hair flares in every direction like seafoam caught on a gale; individual strands often glint with salt crystals that catch the light. He moves with the careful, habitual stiffness of someone who climbs stone stairs and rocks for a living: deliberate foot placement, hands always checking railings and ropes as if learning their weight anew. He wears a weathered leather jerkin patched with faded chart fragments and seaweed-fibered rope belts. An unexpected touch: his left cheek bears a delicately embroidered patch—a tiny floral motif in bright thread—stitched over a long scar, an oddly domestic counterpoint to his salt-stiffened, sea-hardened look. When he leans in to tell you something he believes to be fascinating, the bushy white brows above his grey eyes waggle emphatically, punctuating each point as if conducting the sea's attention itself.