Arterra Fang moves like a shadow that has learned patience. She is a tall half-elf with a lean, sinewy build, the sort of strength that comes from climbing walls, tracking through rain, and dragging living bounties through alleys rather than from showy muscle. Her dark eye makeup is worn in a smudged crescent that makes her gaze seem even deeper and more sleepless, and it never looks accidental. Long brown hair falls past her shoulders in practical braids threaded with black feathers, small bone beads, and a few silver rings taken from old contracts. She wears fitted dark leather layered beneath a hunter's coat stitched with narrow pockets for powders, keys, and folded warrants. Around her neck hangs a necklace of teeth, some human, some beast, some too large to identify without discomfort. On one middle finger she wears a decorative ring ending in a long curved blade, elegant enough to pass as jewelry until it flashes in the light. The unexpected thing about her is the tenderness of her hands: scarred, ink-stained, and surprisingly careful when she handles maps, birds, or wounded creatures. Her face is severe at first glance, but when she smiles, it is brief and startling, like the click of a trap that has chosen not to spring.