She moves like a reed in a slow wind: deliberate, lithe, and always balanced. Her cheekbones are sharp as flint, and a trailing scar arcs from the corner of her left eye down to the jawline like a pale river. Her armor is a patched mosaic of deep green leather and forest-grey mail, each patch bearing a tiny embroidered sigil from a different expedition she has kept. She wears a single raven-feathered earring on the right ear and a polished river stone tied on a leather thong at her throat. Unexpectedly, her boots are always spotless, as if someone invisible sweeps them after every march. When standing still she tilts her head slightly to one side, as though listening to a conversation only she can hear.