Wulger is tall and long-limbed, his white-green scales overlapping like river stones dusted with frost. His blond hair is cut short at the sides and tied back in a rough tail, with a few sun-bleached strands always escaping. Green eyes with narrow, draconic pupils track motion before faces. He waits with his weight pitched onto the balls of his feet, as if the ground might give him a reason to move; when seated, he hooks one boot under the chair rung. His broad jaw works side to side when he chews, and his pointed teeth show in a sudden, startlingly boyish grin. He smells faintly of wet bark, bow oil, and smoke. Unexpectedly, he keeps a small tin of sugared fennel seeds and offers them to nervous children.

Wulger is observant and decisive, but his certainty is partly a brace against grief. In the field he is brisk, tactical, and generous with credit; at a family meal he can become defensive and prickly when old customs are praised as if they never failed. Around children or injured creatures, his sternness gives way to careful tenderness. He wants people to trust one another, yet keeps trying to make trust unnecessary by writing rules for every risk.

Wulger was raised among a Lightfoot-descended family in a Greenwake settlement where hunting used to be a communal obligation: every household sent someone, and the catch was divided by need. As a child, he was gentle with trapped animals and remembered which neighbors disliked liver. During a lean winter, a careless communal hunt drove a herd into a flooded channel; several hunters drowned, including his aunt, while the surviving families argued over blame and food. Wulger came back from that loss convinced that shared responsibility without clear leadership was simply responsibility nobody could grasp. He helped establish new hunting customs: assigned patrols, mapped territories, strict quotas, and a named lead hunter for each outing. The system has kept the settlement fed, but older relatives say he has turned a shared practice into a chain of orders. His cousin Sash, who once taught him to set snares, now refuses to hunt under his rules. Wulger is currently trying to stop a neighboring camp from setting illegal traps along the marsh edge, while quietly worrying that the new customs have made his community safer but less kind.