Weathered and small-boned with hands that tell the story of decades of toil. Her face carries a map of fine lines across the forehead and around the mouth, each crease a harvest remembered. Skin is sun-leathered and freckled; a thin white scar runs diagonally from the left temple to the cheekbone, half-hidden by a habit of tucking stray hair behind her ear. She stands slightly turned, shoulders squared but relaxed, as if always listening for the creak of a gate or the distant bark of a dog. Movement is careful and efficient; when she walks she keeps one hand near her belt as if checking tools she no longer needs to look at. Unexpected element: despite the tired eyes and callused hands she wears a single small, lacquered hairpin carved in the shape of a swan, immaculate and bright against her dull hair, hinting at a past she keeps polished.