Nalia is a slim, wiry young woman who leans slightly forward even when standing still, as if every conversation might become a sudden climb or ambush. Her warm brown, wind-chapped skin is freckled across the nose and upper cheeks. Uneven black hair hangs to her shoulders, hacked short with a knife and usually falling across one side of her mouth. When she smiles, which is rare but sincere, slightly crowded front teeth show through. Her deep brown eyes hold amber flecks, but the memorable thing is where they go: never directly to the speaker for long, always checking hands, exits, rooflines, and the feet of anyone nearby. She moves lightly on the balls of her feet, with a guarded, almost dancer-like balance. The unexpected contradiction is that her hands are extraordinarily gentle. She handles injured animals, old paper, and frightened children with the care of a jeweler, despite carrying herself like someone prepared to break a knee.