Saerun moves with the measured grace of someone used to narrow library stacks and crowded salons. He favors one hip slightly forward like a dancer who never quite left the stage. His skin is marked with faint silver filigree tattoos along his left forearm that shimmer under moonlight and look like spilled ink when seen in bright sun. He keeps one sleeve deliberately rolled to display them. He wears a knee-length coat of midnight blue wool lined with green silk whose collar can be folded to mask his lower face. Unexpectedly, his left eye is pale and glassy, an old injury replaced by a crystal implant that refracts light into soft colors when he blinks, and he keeps a brass pocket watch chained to his belt that never tells the same time twice.