Xhakhar moves like a shadow folded into itself: four chitinous arms articulate with liquid precision, each joint marked by tiny, hairlike sensilla that tremble when he is agitated. His carapace is a banded tapestry of slate, olive and bruise-purple; when still he seems to be painted in the colors of the dusk. The pitted, matte plates along his thorax are scarred in a pale lattice — the remnants of a spear thrust he refused to forget. His head is elongated and crown-like, with a pair of feathery antennae that sweep in slow arcs. He lacks mouthparts; when he 'speaks' his mandibles remain closed and ripples of thought play across his carapace as telepathic phrases. Unexpectedly, he favors a single human-made tricorn hat, lined with soft moss and stitched with shards of mirror that catch the least light — an affectation that makes him look almost theatrical when he pauses on a ridge and tilts his head to listen.