Mara Quill is a compact, quick-moving woman with a weathered face that looks carved by years of wind, rain, and candle smoke. Her hands are ink-stained, nicked, and deceptively delicate, always moving as if sorting invisible wares. She wears a patched shop apron over a charcoal dress, but the apron is lined with hidden pockets, tiny loops, and stitched-in pockets of twine and chalk. Her left sleeve is always rolled higher than the right, revealing a silver-burn scar shaped like a bent nail. The strange contradiction is that she smells faintly of lavender and clean linen, even when she has just spent the day in soot, grease, and old wood dust.