Eldra Valewind looks like a woman carved from weather and patience. Her skin has the warm tan of someone who lives beneath open sky, and her cheekbones are freckled by sun and road dust. She walks with a slight forward lean, as if listening to the land through her boots, and when she pauses, she tilts her head like a hawk hearing mice in the grass. Her cloak is neatly patched in many shades of green and brown, yet the collar is trimmed with a fine strip of silver brocade salvaged from a noble’s torn mantle, a strangely elegant flourish on an otherwise practical traveler. A faint scent of rain on old leather follows her, even on dry days.