Wiry and compact. Kellan moves like someone who learned to slip through gaps older men never noticed. His hands are narrow, with knuckles freckled by old coal and ink stains. He favors layered vests and a long hooded scarf that masks his lower face when needed. He keeps a tiny silver locket tucked inside his shirt against his sternum that he touches when thinking. Unexpected element: one of his forefingers is ringed with a bright blue band of braided thread, a child's toy he never removed and speaks to a quieter tenderness beneath his sharp eyes.