A broad-shouldered man with a fine, persistent veil of white flour in the creases of his neck and eyebrows. His skin is weather-browned and stippled with pale grain dust; his hands are thick and blunt, palms ridged from rope, wood, and millstone work. He stands with his weight settled slightly forward, as if bracing against a wheel's drag, and walks with a measured, rolling tread. His beard is clipped short to keep it clear of machinery. He smells of grain, river water, and sweat. Unexpectedly, he keeps a tiny, brightly painted wooden bird tucked into his apron pocket, carefully repaired whenever it chips.

Uman is practical and quick to distrust a plan that has not been tested, yet he is deeply protective of people who cannot protect themselves. In everyday dealings he is blunt and economical with words; when a child or frightened neighbor is involved, he becomes unexpectedly patient. He dislikes being praised, but resents being treated as expendable.

Uman grew up at the Sesha mill, where his mother taught him to judge grain by its smell and his father taught him to listen for a failing gear. Years ago, a spring flood jammed the mill's sluice while three villagers were trapped in the lower works. Uman broke the wheel's retaining brace to divert the current, saving them but destroying the mill's old machinery and leaving the village short of flour through a hard winter. Since then, he has rebuilt the mill piece by piece and accepted blame without explaining that the brace was already cracked. His closest ally is Thalen, a ferryman who brings him river news; his sister Suyana left for the market town of Orua after accusing him of letting their father work himself to death. Now a grain factor is pressing him to sell the mill, and the river has begun carrying odd black seeds into the millrace.