Kettar is a broad-shouldered mountain dwarf with a compact, work-hardened body and the deliberate balance of someone accustomed to carrying full kettles over ice. His beard is braided into five uneven cords, each bound with a different strip of dyed wool, though the leftmost braid is threaded with tiny copper cooking bells that give a soft chime when he turns. His hands are heavily callused, but his fingernails are kept immaculate and polished with oil. He smells unmistakably of juniper smoke, hot iron, and cardamom, a scent he insists is merely the odor of respectable work. In a crowded room, his eyes rarely settle on whoever is speaking. They move instead from door to window, from hands to boots, and finally to the nearest hearth, as though measuring whether everyone has somewhere safe to sit. The unexpected contradiction is his tenderness: despite his intimidating bulk and stern expression, he handles injured animals with the delicacy of a jeweler setting a stone.