Finn Grafton is a lean, weather-hardened human with the rope-burned hands and balanced stance of someone who has spent most of his life on moving decks. Blue-green river tattoos wind from his left wrist to his throat, depicting drowned bells, reed beds, shoals, and a tiny map of Dawnvale's lower channels. His right index finger is missing its final joint, the old wound polished smooth by years of work. He moves with a rolling gait on land, yet becomes unnervingly graceful aboard a boat, sliding around obstacles without seeming to look. His coat smells of tar, wet wool, and cinnamon bark. The unexpected softness of his appearance is a pair of pale, carefully groomed eyebrows that make his permanently suspicious expression seem almost scholarly.