Lean, springy human woman who moves like a cat that has learned to take shape as shadow. Her skin carries the weathered bronze of outdoor nights and city alleys; the pads of her fingertips are slightly callused and streaked with faint ink and verdant resin. Her hair is cropped short at the sides and long on top, braided into a single rope that falls to one shoulder, threaded with a single glass bead that seems to hold a speck of starlight. She favors movement over display: the edges of her clothing whisper rather than rustle, and she often tilts her head as if listening to the air itself. Unexpectedly, she carries a small woven sachet of dried thyme and iron filings pinned inside her belt as if superstition were a talisman alongside her polished, precise tools.