A compact halfling who moves like a coiled spring: quick, precise, and economical. Serena's patched green cloak is more map than fabric — dozens of sewn-on scraps hiding notes, field repairs, and tiny pockets for seeds and splinters. Her bow is carved from moonwood, pale with a faint pearlescent grain; small silver runes near the grip have been worn soft by constant use. She favors a single braid threaded with bits of brass and flint that clinks like distant thunder when she walks. Unexpectedly, her left shoulder bears the pale, puckered pattern of a quilt stitched into her skin — an old folk-practice tattooesque scarification for luck — which clashes with the military neatness of her uniform. Up close, bright laugh lines slice her face; at a distance, her stance reads as strict, inflexible, and safety-first.