Barnaby carries the look of a life spent close to wood. Short and round-shouldered, he moves with a careful, measured gait, as if every step might bruise an unfinished dovetail. His hands are callused and stained the color of old varnish, with thin scars like faded topographic maps. He tucks a length of twine and a small plane into the cuff of his sleeve so they peek out when he gestures. His face is placid and often flushed from the heat of the workshop; he keeps his jaw rounded with a constant worried set that softens when he talks about craft. Unexpectedly, he wears a delicate silver chain around his wrist with a tiny carved wooden acorn tied to it. It looks out of place next to his rough hands and makes him seem secretly sentimental.