Talen moves like someone used to measured steps on polished floors and soft carpets rather than hard-packed roads — a careful, economical grace. His shoulder-length chestnut hair is usually tucked behind ears that betray his elven blood; stray wisps catch the light and sometimes flutter when a breeze moves through the caravan. His fine features — a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a mouth that smiles easily — suggest a life sheltered from hardship, yet his hands are knuckled and ink-stained in the grooves where years of sealing ledgers and mending worn harnesses have left their marks. He favors layered garments that allow quick movement: a fitted cream shirt with embroidered cuffs, a charcoal doublet cut to his waist, and a long russet scarf that he loops around his neck in different ways to match mood or weather. Unexpectedly, he wears heavy, scuffed iron-toed boots beneath otherwise delicate clothing: an odd contradiction that tells of a man who values appearances but understands rough country. When he walks the caravan he moves with the practiced half-smile of someone always calculating a price or a favor. The impression he leaves is of cultivated charm with an undercurrent of practical toughness.