He was young. His beardless expression bore an expression of unusual sincerity, and in other respects he seemed a hardy, hardworking youth, of an intellectual type. His hair was thick, short, and flaxen. He possessed neither a sorb nor a third arm - so presumably he was not a native of Ifdawn. His forehead, however, was disfigured by what looked like a haphazard assortment of eyes, eight in number, of different sizes and shapes. They went in pairs, and whenever two were in use, it was indicated by a peculiar shining - the rest remained dull, until their turn came. In addition to the upper eyes he had the two lower ones, but they were vacant and lifeless. This extraordinary battery of eyes, alternatively alive and dead, gave the young man an appearance of almost alarming mental activity. He was wearing nothing but a sort of skin kilt. Maskull seemed somehow to recognise the face, though he had certainly never set eyes on it before.
Tydomin suggested to him to set down the corpse, and both sat down to rest in the shade.
"Question him, Maskull," she said, rather carelessly, jerking her head toward the stranger.
Maskull sighed and asked aloud, from his seat on the ground, "What's your name, and where do you come from?"The . man studied him for a few moments, first with one pair of eyes, then with another, then with a third. He next turned his attention to Tydomin, who occupied him a still longer time. He replied at last, in a dry, manly, nervous voice. "I am Digrung. I have arrived here from Matterplay." His colour kept changing, and Maskull suddenly realised of whom he reminded him. It was of Joiwind.
"Perhaps you're going to Poolingdred, Digrung?" he inquired, interested.