Ketevan is a slim young woman with the compact, work-hardened strength of someone who has hauled wet rope, climbed tiled roofs, and slept in armor. Her warm olive skin carries a fine golden dusting of freckles across her nose, shoulders, and forearms. She has a soft-cheeked, almost cherubic face, but her deep hazel eyes are fierce and patient, flecked with amber like resin holding trapped sparks. Her jaw-length dark brown hair is cut unevenly, with one side hacked shorter by a kitchen knife after a river crossing. She stands fully upright but angled toward the nearest exit, weight subtly forward, as if every room is a place she may need to leave quickly. Her movements are quiet and economical, except when she laughs, when her whole body unexpectedly folds forward like a tired laborer. The contradiction is striking: her face looks gentle enough for a village icon, while her hands are broad-knuckled, callused, and always ready to hurt someone.