Ian is unmistakably tall, rising above most villagers by a head, with a narrow, slightly stooped silhouette that seems to fold itself carefully around doorframes. His patched green coat hangs a little short at the wrists and long at the back, and he keeps its brass buttons polished as if they were medals. A neat, slight goatee gives his broad, earnest face a touch of intended gravitas that his frequently bewildered expression undermines. He walks with a long, loose stride, but stops abruptly whenever a thought catches up with him. People remember the incongruity of a practiced bowman who wears a tiny, painstakingly embroidered flower inside his collar, stitched by his late mother.

Ian is eager to please but stubborn once he has committed to a course of action. Among friends, he is exuberant and generous with attention; in a crowd, he becomes a confident storyteller who can turn a small mishap into a grand adventure. When danger arrives, his confusion gives way to plain courage. He struggles to recognize sarcasm and can mistake a warning for a suggestion, yet he notices small changes in the woods that sharper talkers overlook.

Ian grew up in Dunridge, a village named for a forgotten reeve whose old title has worn down into a place-name. His mother, Nessa, repaired clothes and taught him to embroider; his father, Bram, was a poacher who taught him to shoot straight and never waste an arrow. Ian was never quick with sums or instructions, but he could remember the shape of a fox's track for years. When he was nineteen, a winter flood trapped several villagers in the old mill. Ian tried to lead a rescue party by repeating directions he had misunderstood, and the group nearly walked onto a collapsing bridge. He turned back alone, found the mill by following the sound of its wheel, and helped bring everyone out. Afterward, embarrassed by how badly he had explained himself, he began telling the village stories each week, learning to make a muddled event clear and worth remembering. Now he entertains children and elders in the common room, often improving the truth until it has a dragon in it. He is close to Tilda, the miller's practical daughter, who gently edits his grandest claims, and to old Huw, a retired ferryman who taught him to read river weather. Ian's current worry is that poachers have started using his familiar paths, and the village council expects him to identify them before the next market day.