Valter is a broad-shouldered, weathered man whose stillness is more noticeable than his size. He waits with his weight on the balls of his feet, as if every conversation might become a pursuit. His beard is clipped close except for a narrow braid beneath the chin, threaded with a dull brass ring. His hands are clean but permanently roughened around the knuckles from years of reins, winter iron, and prison doors. He smells faintly of boiled wool, juniper oil, and old paper, a scent he does not notice until someone steps close. The unexpected contradiction is his softness of movement: despite his heavy frame and military bearing, he walks almost silently, placing each foot as carefully as a thief.