'Snowy Snowden (given name Simon), in his late twenties, is a tallish fellow who would be rather rangy in build, even if he weren't a bit scrawny at present. His skin is weathered from wind and sun and years of living rough. He moves with the supple grace of a horseman with just enough snap to disclose his time in the ranks.

He has full, dark hair and grey eyes that surprise, staring out from a face that's swarthy under his dark tan. They do stare a bit, too, that faraway stare so common among veterans who've seen too much of the horrors of war. His teeth are even, often displayed in a friendly grin, and just slightly stained by nicotine. He is clean-shaven, keeping to the daily discipline of the barracks even now.

His voice is quiet when he's not larking about with his mates, which happens, if rather infrequently. It gives the impression that he's a serious, competent man. So do his hands, which are broad and scarred from manual tasks. His vocabulary bears the traces of some education, though heavily larded with Digger Dialect, the slang of the ANZAC soldier.

His body carries the impression of strength in reserve, though not heavily muscled. Under his shirt are some shrapnel scars.

He dresses rough in working clothes and boots, a broad-brimmed hat on his head that on close inspection proves to be the uniform hat of a light horseman; his trousers are khaki drill, as is his open shirt.