A stooped old man who moves like someone perpetually balancing a load, Eldrin's shoulders slope as if shaped to carry a thousand tiny burdens. His skin hangs translucent over a lattice of veins; fingers like knotted twigs are perpetually stained with pitch and the ghost of sawdust. He favors a hand-carved walking staff scored with shallow notches for each project completed, but when he walks the notch under his thumb catches on his wool cuff in a subtle, habitual rhythm. Despite his frailty he keeps his chin forward and his eyes bright with curiosity. Unexpectedly, his left eye is clouded with a milky film, yet when he listens to a wheel's whisper he parts the fog with unnerving precision — his hearing seems keener than his sight. He leaves the impression of someone who has built more than carts: he has built the networks that move a town.