Shalei has the lower body of a broad-shouldered, moss-dappled stallion with dark mahogany fur streaked with pale lichen-green where rain has lingered; the equine legs end in webbed, silt-stained hooves that squelch quietly on wooden walkways. Above the chest sits a humanoid torso with broad shoulders, a pronounced feminine waist, and two full breasts — a detail that has made their figure both revered and awkward in some circles — but beneath their kilted sash they bear male genitalia. Their skin is speckled like river pebbles, cool to the touch, and the palms of their hands show faint swirls of barnacle-like ridges. Long, seaweed-dark hair hangs in damp, sinuous locks threaded with shells, beads, and tiny living anemones; when they move, the anemones pulse and the hair clings together in heavy, graceful curtains. Their gait is slow and deliberate among treetop bridges, yet when urgency comes they can spring with surprising speed and fluid agility. An unexpected contradictory element: their eyes and posture radiate a soothing maternal calm, but their voice and hands are often covered in the roughness of a dockworker — callused, quick, and blunt.