Elena Morvath is an elderly human woman with a deeply weathered face, broad cheekbones, and kind, watchful eyes that rarely settle on a speaker for long because they are constantly measuring exits, hands, footwear, and possible injuries. Her iron-gray hair is pulled into a practical braid whose end is tied with red surgical thread. Her skin is sun-browned and wind-dried, with fine creases around her mouth and eyes. She moves with a slightly stooped posture until someone is hurt, at which point she becomes startlingly quick and precise, folding herself around a patient like a closing trap. Her hands are steady during surgery but tremble faintly whenever distant garrison practice bells ring. The unexpected contradiction is that her presence feels almost domestic and grandmotherly, while her gaze and movements belong to a battlefield commander.