Tashi is stout from long days leaning into grain sacks and hauling mill parts. His warm, light-brown skin is often dusted pale at the temples, and his long, dark hair is tied low in a ponytail that reaches the middle of his back. Coarse stubble roughens his jaw; he dislikes shaving because he says it makes his face feel exposed to the mill's grit. He moves with a measured, grounded tread, as if each floorboard might be hiding a change in the machinery. One cuff of his work shirt is carefully darned in neat, tiny stitches that look oddly precise beside the flour ground into the other sleeve.

Tashi is reserved but not cold: he listens carefully, then offers practical help before comfort. His pride in the windmill makes him patient with people and impatient with careless changes to its workings. Among friends at The Sieve and Spade he can be quietly funny; when he suspects danger, he turns inward and measures every word.

Tashi grew up among Two Furrow's farm plots, where he learned to judge a harvest by the feel of a handful of grain. He came to love the windmill for its honest rhythm and took work there as soon as he could. Years ago, a storm twisted a sail and sent the mill shuddering hard enough to shake dust from the rafters. Tashi was inside, trying to free a jammed mechanism, when the stones lurched and a timber cracked above him. He got out with the help of other workers, but afterward he began listening for small changes in the mill's pulse as carefully as other people watch the sky. He shares easy evenings with farmers, porters, and travelers at The Sieve and Spade, though he rarely speaks first. Lately he has heard Gev muttering prayers when he thinks no one is near. Tashi cannot make out the words, and has not decided whether the sound is simply private devotion or a warning he ought to heed.