Gentle and nimble fingers meticulously wield brushes that reveals centuries of history, gingerly open fragile old books containing lives long lost or rub charcoal onto onionskins to unfold languages not spoken for as long as anyone can remember.
Reluctantly but these days confidently the same hands grab for the P-90 strapped to his chest or the gun on his hip. He aims with precision, but shoots with regret.
His hands spread out in a gesture of friendship, of trust and hope, reaching out to the people he meets with openness and warmth.
This is Daniel. These are his hands.