Mara is built like a compact siege engine, broad through the shoulders and hips, with the dense, weathered musculature of someone who has spent half her life lifting people who did not wish to be lifted. Her movements are economical until the instant they become explosive. She rolls her neck before violence, and the old scar tissue along her ribs pulls like pale rope beneath her skin. Her smile is soft, almost shy, but one of her front teeth is capped in polished brass and flashes whenever she lies. Her hands are heavily callused, her knuckles permanently swollen, and her left ear has been folded into a little crescent by years of grappling. The contradiction is impossible to miss: she looks capable of throwing a horse, yet handles frightened animals with exquisite gentleness.