Ssarath moves like water hugging stone: slow when studying, sudden and decisive in crisis. His scales are a patchwork — deep bog-green along his spine, fading to a soft moss on his belly, with a single strip of iridescent teal tracing his left forearm like a river scar. He wears a sleeved leather harness woven with reeds and soaked wisp-lichen that clings with a faint luminescence at dusk. One horn is chipped, the break smoothed by time and wrapped in braided reed thread holding tiny bone beads. Unexpectedly, he keeps a small carved wooden mask tied to his chest; he touches it when thinking, as if consulting an old friend. His gait is deliberate but deceptively quick in water; on land, he favors low, measured steps and often crouches to listen to roots.