Cambridgere appears as a towering robed figure whose proportions shift subtly, like the memory of a cathedral seen through heat. His robe seems woven from compressed dawn light and parchment, the fabric crackling with the faint sound of soft pages turning. The upright staff wrapped with three cords is never still; the cords pulse in time with an unseen breath. Unexpectedly, his left hand is formed of polished bone inlaid with thin veins of gold that glow when he speaks of law, while his face is warm, fleshlike, with eyes like flickering braziers. When he moves, the hem of his robes whispers like a congregation murmuring, and the air around his feet briefly smells of smoke and ink.