Tall and statuesque with the lithe, unhurried grace of old-growth wood. His skin is pale with a faint sun-kiss along the bridge of his nose from months at sea. He wears a long travel coat of deep sea blue embroidered with tiny silver compass roses that catch light as he moves. His movements are precise and deliberate, like a well-rehearsed speech, but his left sleeve is always embroidered slightly differently from the right, a small family ritual added by his mother that he preserves in secret. When he walks he often tilts his head as if listening for distant music. Unexpectedly he carries a cracked child's toy wooden boat in an inner pocket that he sometimes fingers when thinking, a concession to a private melancholy.