Lean, wind-scraped with taut skin and an ever-present half-squint against light. Hair is dark and tightly bound into several practical knots at the nape, the front held by a thin leather strip. Her face is lined by a shallow scar that runs from temple to jaw, matching a network of pale rope-burned lines on her hands. She moves with the economy of a person who trusts muscles over words, hips angled like a ship's keel when she walks. She never fully relaxes; when sitting she perches on the edge of a chair as if ready to stand. Contradiction: when alone belowdecks she keeps a battered porcelain teacup on the table, the delicate pattern at odds with her rough hands.