Bernard moves with the economy of a life spent in fields and meeting halls. His skin is furrowed by wind and sun, and his hands are a map of small scars and callus. He usually stoops slightly from years of stooping over seedbeds but stands straight when addressing his villagers. His gait is deliberate and unhurried, as if he is always measuring distance. Unexpectedly, he wears a well-polished silver signet tucked inside his vest rather than displayed, a private nod to a vow he keeps. His overall impression is of solid dependability, the sort of person you trust with your children and your last loaf.