Nadira carries herself in a natural, unposed stance, one hip slightly lowered as though she is waiting for a cart to be unloaded. Her movements are economical and quiet, but her eyes brighten whenever danger, gossip, or a clever bargain appears. She has a long oval face, a broad expressive mouth, and hands roughened by ink, rope, and winter work. Her dark hair is braided close to the scalp on one side and allowed to fall in a heavy, untidy rope over the other shoulder. She smells faintly of lamp oil, pressed wool, and dried orange peel. The contradiction is in her finery: every garment is carefully cut and mended, yet the silk has been deliberately dulled with ash so it will not look worth stealing. Her most noticeable movement is the way she taps the heel of her left boot twice before making any important decision.