A slim, wiry young woman with warm brown, wind-chapped skin and sun freckles scattered across a narrow nose. Her firm jaw and deep brown eyes flecked with amber give her a watchful, almost severe appearance, but her mouth often settles into a guarded half-smile. Uneven shoulder-length black hair has been hacked short with a knife and falls across one side of her mouth. She leans subtly forward even when standing still, shield arm angled toward whoever seems most vulnerable, her weight poised on the balls of her feet. Her movements are economical and mountain sure, with no wasted flourish. The unexpected softness is the tiny care she gives her hands, rubbing lanolin into cracked knuckles each night despite allowing nearly everything else she owns to remain patched and weathered. Within a minute of meeting her, most people notice the immaculate red stitching on her shield straps, each stitch evenly spaced while the rest of her equipment looks road-beaten.