Liri moves like a breeze stirring leaves—quick, light, and almost silent, blending with the natural world she reveres. Her small, slender frame is wrapped in a patchwork cloak of mossy greens and earthen browns, embroidered with delicate patterns of ivy and small wildflowers that seem almost alive. Her hair is a tangled nest of coppery curls, sometimes braided with tiny feathers or bits of bark, contrasting sharply with her large, pale green eyes that hold both fierce sorrow and steely resolve. The unexpected touch that startles most who meet her is a faint shimmer of silvery scales—remnants of a near-fatal curse—along her left forearm, a subtle contradiction to her otherwise soft halfling flesh. When she moves, the scales catch light like dew, a whisper of the supernatural lurking beneath the peaceful facade.