Kiyoka is a young woman with bronzed skin, dark hazel eyes, and black hair divided into several tight braids that click softly against the brass beads at their ends when she moves. She is very young looking, with rounded cheeks and an almost unfinished softness to her face, yet she carries herself with the rigid stillness of someone twice her age. Her movements are economical and deliberate, trained to keep her from disturbing the sword belt, prayer cord, and bundles of documents always hanging from her body. She takes up more space than her height suggests because she unconsciously squares her shoulders and plants her feet as if addressing a court. The unexpected contradiction is her hands: they are rough, ink-stained, and nicked from chopping vegetables, repairing tack, and carrying refugee supplies, while the rest of her presentation remains painstakingly noble. People remember the faint smell of cedar oil, horse sweat, and crushed mountain mint that follows her.