Garreth Iron-Road is a heavily built human man whose body has the dense, practical strength of someone who has lifted wagon wheels, hauled injured animals, and slept in armor for decades. His skin is darkened by relentless sun and powdered permanently with fine basalt dust that gathers in the creases of his hands and beard. Deep weather lines surround his sharp gray eyes, but the most noticeable thing about his gaze is its constant movement. He rarely looks directly at a speaker for more than a heartbeat, instead checking exits, rooflines, boot soles, wagon axles, and the hands of everyone nearby. His thick salt-and-pepper beard is braided with short strips of faded route ribbon. He moves with surprising quiet for a man of his size, placing each boot as carefully as if the floor might collapse. The unexpected contradiction is that his intimidating frame and battered armor conceal an almost delicate habit of handling small objects, especially injured birds, loose buckles, and children's toys abandoned beside the road.