Tall and willowy with the slow, deliberate grace of someone used to moving through both courts and camps. Her skin has the faint silver dusting of moonlit bark, and her long hair falls in a rope of shadow-blue braids threaded with copper wire and tiny dried bellflowers. She wears an asymmetrical cloak that hangs heavier on the right shoulder, embroidered with a map of an old river that only she can read. When she walks she trails the faint scent of ink and pine, and when she laughs a single silver bell woven into her hair rings once, bright and oddly off-key. There is a small, faded burn scar at the base of her throat that she hides beneath a scarf.