Wulger is tall and long-limbed, with pale skin browned across the nose and forearms by salt glare. Almost-black green scales interrupt his skin along his jaw, temples, knuckles, and the backs of his hands, catching a slick bottle-glass shine when wet. His green, slit-pupiled eyes seem to measure distance even in conversation, and his sharp teeth show whenever he gives a smile that does not reach them. His hands are broad and rope-scarred, the nails worn short and dark with pitch from constant work on bowstrings and traps. He moves with a hunter's economical stillness, then crosses ground in sudden, startling bursts. Unexpectedly, he carries a tiny wooden whistle carved to sound like a marsh frog, a toy he made for his younger sister when they were children.

Wulger's old instinct to care for people survives under a colder, more calculating manner. He can be generous with food and practical help, especially toward children and the injured, yet he treats adult disagreement as an obstacle to be managed. In a calm mood he is observant and almost patient; when his judgment is questioned, he becomes cutting and frighteningly quick to anger. He admires courage, but increasingly mistakes obedience for courage.

Wulger was born into a Lightfoot family that treated hunting as a shared duty: every household took a turn, every catch was divided, and no one pursued dangerous game alone. As a child he was careful and sweet-tempered, the one who stayed behind to mend nets and bring food to elders. During a storm-season hunt, a sea beast overturned his family's skiff. His father, Eber, was lost in the surf while the others waited for help that never came. Wulger survived by cutting loose the boat's tangled lines and swimming through the wreckage with his little sister, Nela, tied to his back. Afterward he decided that communal caution had cost his father his life. He began organizing faster, bolder hunts, using decoys, concealed snares, and bait taken from places no one else would risk. His methods brought meat and fame to the settlement, and he established the new hunting traditions now followed by many young hunters. They also left reefs stripped, neighbors frightened, and old relatives uneasy. His aunt Oru still insists the hunt belongs to the whole community, while his sister Nela quietly tends the injured creatures he brings home. Wulger now tells the settlement that a huge sea beast is moving toward their fishing grounds. He has seen signs of it, but has not told anyone that he deliberately wounded it to draw it closer and prove his methods indispensable.