A tall, broad-shouldered outsider whose presence seems to make nearby rooms feel slightly larger. Her skin has the warm brown sheen of polished river clay, but faint lines of gold move beneath it like roads seen from high above. She walks with deliberate, economical steps, never quite placing her heels on the ground, and every movement produces the soft click of unseen wooden beads. Within a minute of meeting her, most people notice two things: she smells strongly of wet soil, crushed fennel, and cold iron, and she occupies far more emotional space than her physical size suggests. Strangers instinctively turn toward her when she enters, even when she is silent. The unexpected contradiction is her gentleness with fragile objects. She handles eggshells, moths, and old letters with greater care than she gives to sacred relics or weapons.