Tamu is a compact, weather-seasoned human with the dense, balanced posture of someone who has spent decades walking on moving wagon beds. Their skin is dark bronze, textured by sun, dust, and cold wind, with pale calluses across both palms and a permanent gray crescent beneath each thumbnail from axle grease. Their movements are soft and economical, never hurried, yet they can cross a cluttered stage or stable without disturbing a hanging lantern. Their face is broad and calm, framed by tightly coiled hair threaded with copper beads made from old horseshoe nails. The unexpected contradiction is their immaculate smile, bright and almost courtly, which appears whenever they are most frightened or most prepared to lie. People often remember the faint smell of cedar shavings and crushed fennel that follows them.