Borz appears without seeming to enter. One moment there is empty space, and the next there is a hunched mass of gray-green scales occupying it. He stands a little over two meters tall when fully upright, though he habitually stoops as if every doorway is a low branch and every ceiling might collapse. His immense torso is bare, layered with ropey muscle and overlapping scales that rasp softly when he moves. Despite his size, he walks with the nearly silent balance of a marsh predator, placing each foot with deliberate care and never quite shifting his weight where observers expect. His alligator-like head is broad and blunt, with a mouth crowded by uneven teeth, several broken and one replaced by a polished brass cap. The left eye is pinched nearly shut beneath a smooth white scar. The right eye is yellow and slit-pupiled, but it often watches people with something almost gentle. The unexpected contradiction is his hands: huge, clawed, and visibly made for tearing, yet capable of threading tiny bone beads onto cord with a jeweler's precision. He leaves behind an impression of imminent violence held in check by exhausted patience.