Kantu is a lean, weather-hardened man with the compact balance of someone accustomed to crossing unstable ground. His skin is brown-gold beneath a permanent veil of gray dust, and fine ash gathers in the creases beside his mouth no matter how often he washes. He moves with careful economy, placing each foot as though the earth might give way. His expression is restrained and watchful, but his hands are surprisingly gentle when handling small living things. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice the smell of cold hearths, bitter orange peel, and rain on stone. The contradictory impression is unmistakable: he looks like a grave robber from a dead kingdom, yet he keeps himself obsessively clean and folds every piece of clothing with domestic precision.