Varis is lithe and long-limbed, built like a fencer who learned to climb before he learned to walk. He moves in sudden, economical bursts, seeming to fold sideways through gaps that should not admit him. Ledger-ash clings to the creases of his skin and the fine hairs of his arms, while street grime darkens his knuckles and the soles of his feet. His face is narrow, sharp-chinned, and perpetually alert, with amber eyes that dart from seal to seal, hand to hand, and exit to exit. A pale scar crosses his lower lip, though he smiles often enough to make it look like punctuation. His fingers are stained black from ink and sealing wax. The unexpected contradiction is his hands: despite his profession, they are remarkably gentle, with the careful touch of someone accustomed to handling injured birds and delicate paper.