Silt-green skin stretches over a frame that looks too thin to hold together, yet she moves with the patient certainty of an old snake. Her skin has the texture of wet moss over bark, slick in some places, cracked and papery in others, as if several centuries of swamp air have been layered across her. One shoulder is higher than the other, and she leans on a crooked black staff, but when she turns angry or amused, she straightens with startling speed. Her face is long and foxlike, with a smile that can look maternal one moment and predatory the next. The strangest detail is a neat lace collar of spotless white linen, carefully starched and embroidered with tiny blue flowers, worn over a rotten hide dress and a necklace of bone charms.