Talen moves like someone who learned to step lightly on both deck plank and marble floor: precise, balanced, with a half-distracted quality. His left sleeve is usually rolled to the elbow, revealing irrigation-faint scars and a lattice of faded blue tattoo marks that shimmer faintly when he speaks certain words. He keeps a narrow leather satchel slung across his chest, its flap stubbornly buckled with a carved bone clasp in the shape of a gull's wing. When he walks, he favors the balls of his feet and often shifts his weight as if always measuring slope; his gestures are economical. Unexpectedly, atop his well-kept short beard sprouts a single long silver whisker braided and tied with a red ribbon—a superstitious charm from his mother. He smells of sea-salt, pipe smoke, and lemon rind.