She moves like a predator in a city: deliberate, economical, and always angled away from direct light. Her weathered face is tanned and lined, with a diagonal pale scar that runs from her left temple down to her jaw, the skin there slightly puckered and silvered. Her hair is kept in a stubborn, messy bun of steel-gray strands with a single narrow braid threaded with green ribbon that swings when she turns. She wears a patched forest-green cloak whose inside is a faded map of a hunting ground stitched in black thread. On her left wrist a ring of braided leather holds a dried hawk feather tucked under the braid like a secret anchor. Her boots are scuffed and soft at the toes from having been run in. Unexpectedly, she always smells faintly of citrus peels and pine resins, which contradicts the scent of smoke and earth that otherwise clings to her.