Towering presence with green skin mapped by pale, silvered scars that radiate like old lightning. Her cropped red hair bristles short, almost brushlike, and is streaked with a single white lock over the left temple. Her face is a study in contrasts: a nose broken and set straight years ago, eyes that hold a teacher's softness, and a perpetual tiny crease at the left brow when listening. Her movements are economical yet deceptively fluid; she walks as if conserving energy for explosive motion. Unexpectedly, she favors a string of glass beads wrapped around one wrist that tinkle faintly when she shifts position, a fragile sound at odds with her war-scarred bulk.