Vellun is a lean, weather-burnished human man with the compact strength of someone who has spent decades walking fences, climbing wagon roofs, and sleeping under bad skies. His skin is copper-brown and deeply textured around the eyes from sun, wind, and squinting into distant storms. His pale brown hair hangs to his jaw in soft, uneven waves, usually held back with a strip of blue cloth. He keeps a neat mustache that curls slightly when he smiles. His most noticeable feature is the way he waits: never still, always resting one boot on its toe and gently rocking as though feeling a distant wagon wheel through the ground. His fingers are stained blue from powdered glass and ink. He looks like a tired frontier schoolteacher until he begins speaking to the weather, at which point the impression shifts toward something stranger and much older. The unexpected contradiction is his immaculate hands. Even after a day of mud, blood, and spellwork, he cleans beneath every fingernail before eating.