Riorin moves like wind through pines, light-footed and deliberate. His face is an angular map of half-elven ancestry, high cheekbones softened by a slow, easy smile. He wears his hair in a single long braid bound with leather and a handful of small bone beads carved with hunting runes. Scars cross his left forearm in three parallel white lines from a bear's swipe. His right eye bears a small crescent-shaped white scar at the lower lid that tightens when he concentrates. Unexpectedly, he favors a pair of bright green fingerless gloves that look almost ceremonial and a child's faded wool scarf tied at his hip as if keeping a memory close. He smells faintly of pine resin, smoke, and old leather. When he walks he keeps his shoulders loose but his head at the horizon, always scanning.