Mara possesses a striking, angular grace that straddles the line between elven nobility and the grit of a frontier scout. Her presence is dominated by her sharp, analytical eyes that seem to scan for structural weaknesses in both masonry and men. Despite her profession, her hands are not soft; they are calloused and scarred from years of handling heavy leather and bowstrings. She moves with a suppressed energy, like a coiled spring, and always smells faintly of cedarwood and lanolin. A heavy, silver-tipped needle is perpetually tucked behind her right ear, as much a tool as a symbolic threat.