Thalrenna looks like a walking glade in miniature: her skin is mottled bark and moss, small leaves and pale lichens woven into the folds of her hair, and tiny mushrooms ring the hem of her cloak like a living trim. She moves with a slow, deliberate gait — each step seems to test whether the earth beneath will answer — but when provoked she can unfurl movement like sapleaves in a windstorm. Unexpectedly, when she smiles the whitened tips of her teeth glow faintly green for a breath, as if lit from inside. Her hands are long and dexterous, stained with spore dust; one fingertip bears a silver line of old scorched wood, a scar from a burned tree she failed to save.