Elara Tinsworth is a weathered, broad-shouldered human woman with the compact strength of someone who has hauled barrels for half her life. Her hands are heavily callused, her knuckles permanently swollen, and a thin white scar cuts through her left eyebrow. She moves with quiet economy, never wasting a step, yet when angry she becomes startlingly graceful, pivoting across the common room like a dancer avoiding broken glass. Her face is usually flushed from the kitchen hearth, and she smells faintly of rosemary, woodsmoke, and iron. The unexpected contradiction is her smile, which is soft, almost shy, and wholly at odds with the brutal precision with which she can dismantle a brawler.