A compact, hard-used man with the posture of someone who has spent half his life ducking beneath low stone arches. He moves with a careful, sideways economy, always leaving room for another body to pass. His skin has a faint gray-brown cast from years of damp air and mineral grime, though his hands are scrubbed obsessively clean. He smells of lamp oil, wet limestone, bitter herbs, and the sharp copper scent of old pipes, a combination he insists is medicinal. His clothes look patched and practical at first glance, but every patch is sewn with unnervingly precise stitches. The unexpected thing about him is his gentleness with delicate objects. He handles eggs, glass, and frightened children as though they are more valuable than gold.