Tall and lean with the smooth, weathered grace of someone who spends days in sun and hay. His skin bears the faint patterned scars of old tack and saddle chafing along his forearms. He moves with the precise economy of a handler who expects animals to mirror small shifts in weight. His hair is tied back in a low, messy braid threaded with a single faded red ribbon, a small token that never seems to fray. He wears fingerless gloves on his left hand only. Contradictory to his practical bearing he keeps a single polished ivory chess pawn suspended on a leather thong at his throat, catching light when he laughs.