Morwenna is a lean, weather-hardened woman whose body seems built from rope, driftwood, and old scars. Her deep salt-tan skin is crosshatched by fine white lines from windburn, climbing accidents, and years of flying grit. Her hazel eyes are sharp and nearly unblinking, with pale gold flecks that catch the light like fish scales. Thick iron-gray hair is braided tightly against coastal gales, yet one short braid always escapes and taps against her cheek when she is angry. She moves with a measured, rocking gait, as though the ground beneath her is still a deck in heavy swell. Her hands are broad-knuckled and permanently rough, with blackened nails and a missing tip on her left little finger. The unexpected impression is that, beneath her severe watchfulness, she has an almost delicate smile that appears whenever she hears someone singing badly.