A compact young gnome standing just over three feet tall, with a broad, sun-brown face and a prodigious rounded nose that seems to arrive a moment before the rest of her. Her bright hazel eyes shine with such concentrated excitement that strangers often feel examined, admired, and mildly disassembled at once. Her fair hair sticks out in every direction in stiff, springy tufts, each one usually carrying a fleck of brass dust, flour, or blue thread. She moves with quick, purposeful starts, then stops so abruptly that her coat continues swaying after she has gone still. Her smile is enormous and sincere, but her hands are almost always cold and ink-stained. She smells faintly of cedar shavings, sugared ginger, and overheated metal, despite taking great pride in her personal cleanliness. The unexpected contradiction is her silence when confronted with genuine grief. In those moments, the restless little craftswoman becomes perfectly still, watching with the solemn patience of a stone.