Ysra Pell looks like a woman who has slept in ruins for too long and refused to let them win. Her face is narrow and weathered, with fine lines filled by gray temple dust and a pale scar cutting from her left eyebrow to the corner of her mouth. She moves with a measured limp that becomes almost graceful when she is navigating broken stone. Her hands are broad, callused, and permanently stained with ochre mortar. Unexpectedly, beneath her grim expedition coat she wears a dress of delicate blue silk, carefully repaired at the hem, a keepsake from the daughter she failed to save. She leaves people with the impression of a locked door that is still warm from someone standing behind it.