Soft spoken and always composed, she carries the look of someone who tends to graves and hospital beds. Her half-elven features are elongated and gentle but weathered by long vigils. Her movements are deliberate and slowly economical, like a person who measures speech against silence. She wears a faded chapel tabard over well-worn chain, the tabard embroidered with a single stitched rose in silver thread at the heart. Around her left wrist there is a thin leather strap braided with a lock of dark human hair tied in a small knot, the only piece of her late husband's clothing she could keep. Unexpectedly, she keeps a small carved wooden toy soldier in her pocket that she winds and lets march in the palms of grieving children. The toy's bright paint contrasts with the muted dignity of everything else she owns.