Gunther is six feet tall, long-limbed and lean, with the careful upright carriage of someone accustomed to standing behind a market stall and the watchful stillness of someone once posted on guard. His pale skin has faint green tracery beneath it, like chlorophyll caught in leaf veins; in cold or stormy weather the lines shift toward muted red and orange. His gold-blond hair is kept unusually short and scrubbed clean, partly because it grows quickly and partly because he thinks neatness reassures customers. His green eyes keep tracking doorways, hands, and the spaces behind people rather than meeting a face for long. His pointed, subtly leaf-shaped ears are hidden under a close coif and a soft-brimmed hat, though he repeatedly checks the hat as if it might betray him. His moss-cloth jacket has a modern cut, crisp seams, and a springy, velvety nap that changes texture across its panels. At first he gives the impression of an earnest young tailor; a second look catches the unnerving sense that he is listening to the room's shadows.

Gunther is proud of his sisters' craft but anxious about selling it, bold when standing guard but awkward when invited into ordinary human company. He can be warm and curious over a new fabric, then abruptly watchful if a stranger reaches toward his hat. In a quiet mood he studies people patiently; under pressure he falls back on rigid military habits he dislikes.

Gunther was found as a child in the woods of Thuringia and raised by the Moosfräuleins and the Buschgroßmutter, who became his family. He has never learned why he was abandoned. His sisters weave cloth shaped by whatever they are feeling or curious about, and he brings home samples and ideas: close-knit fabric, unfamiliar stitches, and, lately, jacquard patterns. They make the moss cloth while he tests it, wears it, and sells it. This stall is a new venture, and he is determined to make it succeed before his sisters decide the work is only a passing fascination. In a former era, human soldiers forcibly conscripted him into a world war. He learned to handle guns and to stand watch over people who did not trust him. He hated the fighting, but its routines and injuries left him feeling more human than he wanted. Now he is trying to build a peaceful trade in a world where ordinary human customs can still puzzle him. He is searching for moss varieties with new textures and uses, while keeping his fae nature out of sight and worrying that the people who raised him may know more about his origins than they have told him.