Kurgan Teskov is a rangy, weather-battered human man with the long balance of someone who spent half his life walking fence lines and bad roads. His skin is wind-browned and freckled across the nose, while his hands are permanently stained at the cuticles with blue copper salts. His hair is iron-gray at the temples but remains dark and thick at the crown, usually tied with red surveyor's thread. He moves in abrupt, economical starts, as though every gesture has been measured against an unseen gust of wind. Before speaking, he draws a sharp breath through his teeth and holds it for one uncomfortable second. The unexpected contradiction is that his intimidating, rangy silhouette hides an almost delicate gentleness: he handles moths, children, and porcelain cups with the care of a jeweler.