Nádia is a broad-shouldered woman with the grounded strength of someone accustomed to carrying crates of books up narrow staircases. Her movements are deliberate but never slow, and she turns her whole body toward anyone who speaks, as if granting them the dignity of her full attention. A blue wool cord is always wrapped three times around her left wrist, holding a tiny clay bead stamped with a sunburst. The cord is frayed and darkened exactly where it rubs against the rim of her shield. She smells faintly of cedar dust, lamp oil, and mountain rain. Her expression is usually calm, but her hands reveal her mood, tightening around the cord whenever she hears an argument built on a false quotation. The unexpected contradiction is her armor: practical chain and battered leather protect a woman whose most carefully maintained possession is a collection of delicate pressed flowers tucked between pages of military histories.