Gela has a compact, weather-shaped face, a broad nose, and a close-cropped beard threaded with pale reeds that he has forgotten to remove. His skin has the dull, burnished look of someone who spends long days in wet wind. He moves with a measured sideways drift, always placing his weight on the outer edge of one foot as if testing whether the ground will hold. When waiting, he rests his shoulder against the nearest solid surface and watches the exits without turning his head. The unexpected detail is the little clay pot tied securely to his pack, where a tiny marsh iris keeps blooming despite every journey.

Gela is patient with frightened people and impatient with confident ones. He can be generous with his time, then suddenly rigid when a plan risks someone else's safety. In good weather he jokes dryly and shares food; when rain starts or someone mentions a missing person, he becomes intensely practical and difficult to interrupt.

Gela grew up on the reed-cutting settlement of Reedwake, where his mother, Nino, taught him to read water by the rings around a floating leaf. As a young trail guide, he led a survey crew through a newly drained fen. He believed the engineer's claim that the marked ground was safe; a sinkhole swallowed the crew's supply cart and his younger brother, Davit. Gela pulled two workers free but could not reach Davit before the water closed over him. The loss made him distrust maps that have not been tested underfoot. He later became a warden for the local ferrymen, tracking poachers and guiding people through flood country. He still sends money to Davit's daughter, Salome, who has no idea why her uncle never visits. His former partner, Otar, now manages the drainage works and insists the accident was unavoidable. Their arguments are quiet, regular, and unfinished. Lately, strange lights have been appearing beneath the old causeway, and someone has been removing the warning stakes.