Elsbeth Rann is a narrow, knotted woman whose body seems shaped by years of stooping beneath branches and crawling through wet undergrowth. Her skin has the dry, ridged texture of birch bark, while gray hair hangs in thin, leaflike clumps that rustle faintly even indoors. Her fingers are permanently stained amber and black by pine resin, and the nails of her left hand are split into hard, uneven points. She moves with a slow, root-pulling stiffness until something threatens a name or a living plant, at which point she becomes startlingly quick, crossing a room with the sudden jerk of a startled crow. Her face is deeply lined and severe, yet she has an unexpectedly delicate smile that appears whenever she hears a child mispronounce a difficult word. She leaves behind the impression of a dying tree that has somehow continued to bloom.