A broad-shouldered young Saxon with a work-hardened stance, Toke moves as if every doorway might be too low and every conversation might turn into a dare. His weather-reddened skin is roughened by smoke, wind, and the sting of winter chores; soot gathers in the creases beside his nose and along his knuckles. His short beard grows unevenly, and his hair is usually tied back with a strip of worn linen. He smells faintly of peat smoke, damp wool, and iron. A small wooden horse hangs at his belt, its muzzle polished almost white from years of nervous thumb-rubbing. Unexpectedly, he keeps a sprig of tiny white heath flowers tucked into his belt when they are in season, replacing it if it wilts.

Blunt and brave, but not fearless: he steps toward immediate danger and broods afterward over consequences he ignored. He is restless when left idle, yet surprisingly patient with children, animals, and anyone learning a hard task. In a friendly mood he jokes with a dry, practical edge; under scrutiny he grows guarded and precise, while anger makes him more direct and physically energetic rather than quiet.

Toke grew up among the small Saxon hearths scattered along the wooded approaches to the Harz, learning to split kindling, bank coals, and judge a stranger by how they treated a shared meal. Before the change, he was one of two women among a close circle of displaced friends who called themselves the Seven Hearths, though the fellowship was never a formal band and has never had seven members at once. A Walpurgis-night storm drove the group into a ruined kiln. At dawn, Toke woke in a stronger, biologically male body, with a rough voice, new facial hair, and unfamiliar hungers and impulses. His old memories remained his own. The change frightened him, then angered him, and eventually became something he had to live with rather than explain. Since then he has used his Saxon name and a male presentation; in this time and place, openly claiming his former identity could invite coercion, punishment, or dangerous religious scrutiny. His companions scattered after the kiln night. He now keeps a hearth near the Harz, feeding travelers and listening for news of them, while local clergy ask increasingly pointed questions about the strange lights seen in the hills.