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He's got a battered frame to him, long and lean if heavy with muscle through the shoulders that support massive wings, sheathed in a leathery brown the color of aged chestnut shells. Those wings reach longer than they rightly should, but seem less so when he has them furled, a matter of efficient folding of thin, opaque-seeming sails. He's seen Thread, and it's scarred him a couple of times, along his left shoulder and diagonally down his sharp-ridged tail: old wounds, that don't impair his mobility except at the end of a particularly long, cold day. Though the dragon's talons have a metallic glint to them, they smack of iron rather than anything softer or more malleable.