A lanky, pavement-orange orangutan with the slow, deliberate proportions of someone who once spent a lifetime in a chair. His fur is brushed and trimmed as if by a caring hand; it picks up dust in the creases like the margins of neglected tomes. His long arms drape almost to his knees and end in hands that look as capable of sign language as of unbolting a door. Around his shoulders he wears a patchwork of library binding leather and embroidered hierarchy cords; his fingers and toes are ringed with tiny bookbinding tools strapped with thread. He moves with the measured rhythm of a librarian pacing stacks, and yet when necessary he can lunge with the sudden spring of a predator. Unexpectedly, he keeps a neat, human-sewn necktie knotted over his chest though he has no collar to fill it, and he sometimes straightens it while reading, a polite mimicry of his former human posture.