Willow looks almost entirely human at first glance, until the light catches him and reveals the wrongness and wonder in equal measure. His skin is pale with a faint pearl undertone, like river stones washed clean by winter rain. He wears his shock-white hair in a loose, uneven fall that always looks wind-tossed, as if he has just stepped out of a storm. His movements are precise and quiet, yet oddly hesitant, like someone who learned to be gentle by practice rather than instinct. He dresses in an open deep-blue vest that hangs from his narrow shoulders and baggy trousers tied at the ankles, both worn soft by years of travel. The unexpected thing is his smile, which is warm, almost boyish, and completely at odds with the deep, sleepless attention in his eyes, as if he is forever listening for a voice only he can hear.