Broad-shouldered and compact, he moves like someone used to closing gates and standing in rain. His armor shows careful repairs in contrasting thread colors, each stitch a small private map of past shifts. He wears a battered steel half-helm hung at a jaunty angle when off duty, and a length of faded blue cloth tied at his left wrist. The cloth is frayed but perfumed with dried lavender, a soft contradiction to his rough hands and the gravel in his voice. When he walks he keeps his torso slightly forward as if balancing a long memory on his shoulders.