Aldren moves like a man who has spent years walking narrow ridgelines and riverbeds. He wears his weather in the tiny scars etched along his jaw and the faint silvering of a single strand of hair at his temple. His leather gear is oiled but patched in places with odd, colorful cloth scraps - remnants of favors traded for shelter. He keeps one sleeve rolled higher than the other, revealing a faded, angular tattoo of a crossing river and three dots. Unexpectedly, he carries a child's carved wooden horse tied to his belt with a length of frayed ribbon. When he walks he scans the ground as if reading a book, but when he laughs his entire posture opens, warm and sudden.