At first glance there is not much that distinguishes Gale from other humans; height slightly average for atypical female Anaxi yet considered on the shorter end for a male - the actual measured height would be at 5'9" when bothering to stand straight - , the form lean and balanced from a life of work. Thick, dirty blonde, hair is kept short along the sides, a mop of it blooming out from their crown and falling freely. There would be times where it would be swept back from their face and framing their features, but for the most part it is streaked with dust and dirt, blackened from long days working in a forge. With that, they would pass most people by – an indistinguishable shape and gender that would disappear into the crowd.
Those who looked closer though would pick out the light skin from behind the dirt, the small features and the look of calm they carried. Youthful, a slightly pointed chin paired with sea-green eyes that never rest too long – they are always moving flickering to and fro at the world around their. The form is still clearly difficult to tell, loose fitting clothing covers the bindings across their torso, a light weight scarf breaks up the slenderness of the neck with a coat bulking out the form and shoulders. Trousers are also the chosen option, tucked into high boots, far from glamourous in design, but more to protect from the elements of the forge. In short, it is a rag tag of rough leathers and various thicknesses of spun wool that make up their clothing.
The manner in which they presents themselves is far from helpful. Their trade is no secret; it is common to see them with a collection of simple tools at their waist for the times they is working outside the forge – a man’s job in the eyes of society. The lack of giving any true care for appearance, to be mostly dishevelled, results in an androgynous look. Even if they were to care, the results would still no doubt be the same. It is therefore common for them to be referred to as a “lad” to many an onlooker. Bare truth however would reveal the "boy" to instead be a "girl".
Closer still, the observer would spy the short nails; the rough palms covered in scratches, the few scars that pattered across their forearms, burns and cuts from using tools forming into pale lines. There are a few freckles too, dotted across the cheeks, thin lips that occasionally twitch. The hair, if it was dare cleaned, shows only the smallest of hints of the true lighter blonde that is masked beneath years of dirt. For them to speak would reveal a thick lilt, one that had a tendency to place emphasis on the front most vowels while the others would be low. The tone would be slow, deliberately so it would seem, every word carefully measured and weighed up. But to those they knew it would pick up, quick and snapping – leaving the unfamiliar lost to the conversation.