Ketill is a short, weathered man with a deeply furrowed face and a body narrowed by hard work, bad food, and long confinement. His hands are broad at the palms but delicate at the fingertips, stained permanently with earth beneath the nails. His gray curls spring outward from his head like thistle down, while his beard grows in uneven silver patches that he trims with a stolen knife. When he smiles, his lower jaw shifts slightly to one side and reveals a conspicuous row of small, square teeth, several capped in dull tin. He chews slowly, even when nervous, as if testing the strength of every mouthful. He walks with a tired farmer's stoop, yet turns with startling balance and noiseless precision. The contradiction is unsettling: he looks breakable until someone threatens a weaker person, at which point he becomes utterly still and difficult to move.