Mother Grael is a tall, reed-thin hag whose joints bend a little too far and whose bare feet leave wet fingerprints instead of footprints. Her skin resembles drowned teak, ridged with pale salt scars and soft patches of gray moss. A curtain of white hair hangs in ropes from her scalp, each strand threaded with fish vertebrae, brass charms, and tiny blue eggs that click softly when she moves. Her mouth is broad and almost tender-looking until it opens, revealing three overlapping rows of translucent teeth. She walks with a gentle, grandmotherly sway, yet her shadow often moves a heartbeat ahead of her. The unexpected contradiction is her hands, which are broad, warm, and beautifully cared for, with clean nails and the delicate touch of a practiced midwife.