Sand and sun have carved fine callouses into her hands while wind and salt have bleached the tips of her hair. She moves like a predator at ease: slow head turns, small shifting steps, a constant half-smile that thins into a line when she listens. Her half-elf cheekbones are sharp, her jaw square and tattooed with an inked green vine that curls from her temple down behind her ear. She wears a frayed green sash across her chest that smells faintly of crushed sage. Unexpectedly, she keeps an old silk scarf—bright blue and embroidered with city motifs—tied to her belt, a relic that seems at odds with her desert-worn gear.