A tall, ruggedly handsome youth who looks more at ease under open sky than in any parlor. His wheat-dark blond hair is clipped short and unevenly at the nape, with sun-gold strands catching in it. In summer his skin is browned by long days outdoors; in winter it pales noticeably. Bright sky-blue eyes hold an alert, assessing look, and sometimes seem to take on a different cast when his manner shifts toward one of the colonies he has recently lived among. He moves with loose, practical economy, but his unusual strength makes ordinary gestures a little hazardous: a chair scrapes, a door bangs, a cup cracks in his grip. He smells of woodsmoke, damp leather, and crushed pine needles, and seems not to notice. A small, battered brass compass is always tucked into his coat; its lid is polished bright by his thumb while its hinge is worn almost loose.

He is generous with food, effort, and protection, but guarded with affection. In the woods he is calm and observant; in a crowded European room he becomes loud, talkative, and competitive while keeping a careful physical distance. His religious devotion sits uneasily beside his refusal to follow rules he considers pointless. He wants to be kind, yet can use cruelty as a shield when he feels judged.

Arthur, called England by those who speak of nations as kin, gave him the single name Tobias. Tobias grew faster than anyone expected of a place-born child, and his uncertain parentage became a subject of whispered wagers. Arthur will tolerate speculation about Berwald the Swede, Nils the Dutchman, or Allister the Scot, while less welcome rumors name Rhys, Reilly, or even Lalli. Tobias rarely asks which story is true. He considers Arthur his father by upbringing and obligation, though the unanswered question still troubles him in private. He remembers his mother as a real presence, not a symbol, but those memories are tangled with a gentler childhood he cannot return to. As the colonies grew around him, he learned their trails, weather, and rival ways of speaking. He is kind to ordinary people whatever their rank, yet has absorbed narrow assumptions about whose customs count as kin. He is wary of Europeans and distant from many other place-born beings, but Native American traditions have given him moments of unexpected comfort. He listens closely when elders speak of thunderbirds and horned serpents, even while insisting he has never seen such things. A formative terror came during a night hunt when something unseen moved through the trees. Tobias could not perceive it, only hear the animals go silent and feel the woods turn wrong. Since then, any glimpse of the supernatural sends him into deep fear. Now Arthur has sent him across the sea to learn proper society beside Ludwig, a German place-born youth. Tobias would rather be in the woods, but keeps going: the colonies are changing, his place in them is unclear, and he believes skill and usefulness may earn him a home.