A tall, lean lizardfolk whose movements are measured and deliberate, Chokanopa carries the stillness of the marsh in his shoulders. His scales are patterned like wet bark and old reeds; up close, they glimmer with faint iridescent flecks that catch lamplight. Intricate tattoos—inked in soot-black and green plant-resin—wind across his arms and chest like cartography of waterways; some of the symbols are raised slightly, the glyphs healed into scar tissue. He wears a patched, hooded temple mantle of smoked reeds over an under-layer of boiled leather, and a ceremonial bone necklace made of small curved fangs and carved snail-shell disks. Unexpectedly gentle hands end in trimmed, blunt claws, and when he walks he sometimes drags his toes in the mud as if mapping the ground. He tilts his head almost constantly as if listening to a distant chorus, and when he prays his pupils narrow and his voice becomes almost flute-like.