Thyrae is a compact, weather-hardened woman with the balanced posture of someone who has spent half her life walking uneven ground. Her hair is a startling, true red, not copper or auburn, and she wears it in two long braids bound with dull green thread. The braids swing like weighted ropes when she turns quickly. Her face is narrow and sun-browned, with a small notch through her left eyebrow and a pale crescent scar under her chin. Her hands are broad across the knuckles, stained permanently by bow wax, pine resin, and iron oil. She moves with little apparent effort, placing each foot as though the ground has already told her where it wants to be. Unexpectedly, she has an almost delicate habit of smoothing wrinkled cloth and arranging objects into neat lines, even beside a muddy road or during a tense negotiation. She leaves people with the impression of a banked fire: quiet, useful, and dangerous to mishandle.