Pavena is slender and wiry, with a narrow frame made more noticeable by the way she takes up space: she plants herself in doorways and watches every approach as if the whole threshold were hers. Her pale, freckled skin is smudged with green-brown plant stains. Messy red hair is divided into braids that unravel into flyaways, often snagged with dry leaves. Hazel eyes keep flicking toward gaps in the trees. She moves softly but not gracefully, placing each foot with a brief, deliberate test before trusting the ground. Her breathing is usually almost inaudible; when frightened, she takes one sharp breath through her nose and holds it. The unexpected detail is a tiny, careful collection of smooth river stones tucked into her belt, each marked with a tiny painted dot.

Pavena is protective but wary of being needed, and intensely curious but quick to pretend she has seen enough. Around strangers she is watchful, economical, and difficult to impress. Around children or injured animals she becomes patient and warm. When frightened she turns brisk and bossy; when safe, her youthful enthusiasm spills out in questions and impulsive experiments.

Pavena grew up in a hill village, learning plants, weather, and the habits of hungry animals at the side of the village herbalist, Efa. She was better at finding what people needed than at staying where she was told. The turning point came when a late thaw flooded the footbridge and trapped her and Efa beyond the village. Pavena found a dry ledge and edible roots, but ignored her own warning about the rising water for too long. Efa was swept away while helping a stranded shepherd. Pavena survived, and has never decided whether trusting her instincts sooner would have saved them both. Now she is lost in a shadowed forest among overgrown ruins, searching for a safe route home and the source of strange, fresh-cut tracks. She carries Efa's field notes, whose last pages describe a plant growing only near these ruins.