Sura is a bronze-skinned young woman with warm golden undertones, weather-freckled across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks. Her face is long and intelligent, softened by a mouth that seems perpetually on the verge of either courtesy or refusal. Thick black hair, threaded with auburn in firelight, is braided down one shoulder with a faded crimson ribbon. She moves with the economical balance of someone raised around horses, steep paths, and unstable luggage, never wasting a step. Her hands are unusually memorable: the fingertips are ink-stained, the nails neatly cut, and the palms roughened by reins and road dust despite her noble upbringing. She wears a tarnished signet ring on a cord beneath her shirt and rubs its cord whenever she lies. The unexpected contradiction is that her clothes and bearing suggest a displaced courtier, but she eats, sleeps, and watches exits like a seasoned caravan guard.