Master Yusef ibn-Ahmad is a lean, sun-browned human with the dry, carefully preserved look of someone who has spent too many years beneath stone and too few beneath open sky. His hazel eyes are enlarged slightly by wire-rimmed reading lenses, and their constant motion makes it seem as though he is measuring every person in the room for hidden vibrations. Silver threads run through his dark hair, which is tied neatly at the nape with a strip of faded blue cloth. His fingers are narrow and callused from stylus work, yet the nails are always clean and precisely trimmed. He moves with tiny, economical steps, never dragging a slipper or brushing against a wall. The unexpected contradiction is that, despite his quiet scholarly appearance, his hands are scarred with pale burns and his left shoulder sits slightly higher than the right, injuries earned during a cave-in while he dragged three apprentices through a collapsing inspection tunnel. His presence leaves an impression of stillness under pressure, like a sealed door behind which something enormous is listening.