Tavra is a slight young marsh-dweller with long limbs and a careful, floating gait, as if every step has been rehearsed to avoid waking the mud. Her skin has the muted brown-green tone of river reeds beneath cloudy water, textured with tiny pale freckles that resemble seed husks. Her hair is a tangled fall of dark copper strands, threaded with living rushes that slowly turn toward nearby sunlight. Her hands are stained black beneath the nails from root dyes and grave soil. She wears a constant expression of watchful concern, yet her smile is startlingly bright and theatrical when she forgets to be afraid. The unexpected contradiction is that she looks fragile and half-starved, but her grip is strong enough to bend a green branch with one hand.