Elira moves like someone who was taught both courtly grace and how to ride hard for days. She wears her hair in a loose braid that frays into wind-tousled curls at the nape; the braid is threaded with a single strip of faded blue ribbon — the only remnant of a childhood toy. Her riding cloak is patched in a dozen subtle places, each patch sewn with a different thread color to match a different friend or retainer who mended it (she keeps the stitchers' names in a private ledger). When standing still she carries the careful posture of a princess; when she walks, she favors the left hip as if always poised to draw a blade. Unexpectedly, she keeps a pair of soot-darkened fingerless gloves tucked under her sleeve: she refuses to show them unless she believes someone needs to see proof she has done the dirty work herself. The overall impression is of someone who belongs to a court but often smells faintly of stable straw and candle smoke.