“A quiet contralto with a rasp of dust in it, capable of becoming startlingly sharp when she recites a legal clause”

A faded indigo work robe belted over patched linen trousers, wrapped calves, and mud-dark sandals. She wears a short surveyor's mantle of layered reed fiber, stitched with red thread to indicate her home settlement. A formal petition sash hangs over it, far too fine for her other clothing, borrowed from a sympathetic archivist.

Shadia leans forward when listening, as though trying to hear water beneath the words. When challenged, she plants her staff vertically and rests both hands on its top. She rarely points at people, but points constantly at thresholds, walls, drains, and changes in paving. When she lies, her left thumb rubs the copper cap on her tooth.