Lysa moves as if listening to music no one else can hear. She favors long flowing sleeves embroidered with tiny horseshoes and constellations. Her left sleeve is always slightly singed at the cuff. She wears a belt of braided copper wire with small charms and a single leather strap that once held a horse's rein, though no horse has grazed it in decades. When she walks the air around her seems to shimmer faintly, as if the light cannot decide how to pass by. Unexpectedly, she keeps a pair of well-worn leather clogs stuffed with dried lavender at the base of her cloak, a scent that contradicts her quiet austerity.