Kethar moves like a gust given shape: sudden, economical, always with wings slightly half-arched as if ready to launch. His plumage is mostly slate-gray with a steel-blue wash across his back; the chest feathers are paler, mottled with faint streaks of old ash where feathers were singed. He wears ceremonial wing-armor — thin articulated pauldrons that clip along his primary feathers — decorated with stripped crimson ribbon and tiny brass talismans that jingle like wind chimes when he shifts. His left wing bears a deliberate patch where the primary quills have been shaved and bound with leather, exposing scarred tendon that flexes with a dry, metallic click. One talon is tipped with a prosthetic bronze hook, polished to a dull gleam. He favors a short, wrapped leather flying-cape that flutters like a banner and an open-fronted chest harness covered with pins: unit marks, deeds, and a single broken ring kept upside-down. Unexpectedly, he often carries a battered child's wooden kite, knotted to his harness; when he is contemplative he traces its string between his talons.