Lean and angular with the quiet, economical movements of someone who walks a thousand paths. His cloak is woven from dark-green moss-silk that drinks light; when he moves it makes the faint crackle of brittle leaves. A long braid of wintergrey hair is threaded with a single raven feather and a strip of polished birch bark etched with old boundary marks. His left forearm carries a faded tattoo of a hollow tree ring that shimmers under moonlight. He favors taking high, watchful perches and slides down trunks like a shadow rather than climbing with visible effort. Unexpectedly, his fingers are stained with ochre and sap as though he is always repairing something delicate.