Lethrin moves like a shadow that has practiced polite bows. She favors silence over flourish; when she walks the leaves barely rasp underfoot. Her face is narrow and freckled with bark-like freckles along the cheekbones. A long, pale scar like an old lightning strike cuts through her left eyebrow to the hairline — she touches it reflexively when thinking. She keeps dozens of small, folded maps gathered in a sash that rattles like chaff when she moves; close observers say the maps are stitched into strips like the ribs of a whispering fan. Her left forearm bears a faded tattoo of a branching root — each tiny notch on the root represents a scout lost or promoted. Contradiction: she wears an elegant copper circlet of Sylvanreach magistrates when meeting elders, but sleeps with a wisp of mud and a bird's feather braided into her hair.