Thal-sni stands small but upright, a compact shape of quick, animal moves. Her skin is smeared with ash that is not merely cosmetic but layered in thin, ceremonial lines that darken when she speaks prophecy. She wears a crown of twisted blackened twigs and a single iron bead braided into her sparse, smoke-gray hair. Her hands are ink-stained with charcoal and small burn scars crisscross her palms like a map. When she moves she smells faintly of smoke and citrus resin. Unexpectedly she carries a neatly folded child's blanket tucked into her belt, clean and bright against her soot-smudged clothes.