Basalt's body is a smooth, grey stone chassis inlaid with slow-growing bands of lichen and carved, barklike grooves that flow along his limbs as if wood were trying to push through stone. He stands with the calm stillness of a standing stump, movements economical and slightly delayed — as though every motion requires a small internal calculation. Thin copper veins run beneath his 'skin', catching light like the rivers between rock. Around his left shoulder a strip of moss has taken root and blooms with tiny white flowers in spring; he tends it as if it were a pet. Unexpectedly, when he laughs (a small shake of pebbles inside his chest), a faint puff of smoke scents like pine drifts from his jaw vents — an odd, contradictory trace of hearth and forest together.