Jaimy is a compact young dwarf with a round, serious face and a way of standing that makes her seem planted into the street. Her hands are broad and heavily callused for a child, with black mineral dust settled permanently into the creases of her palms. She smells faintly of wet slate, candle grease, and sweet oatcakes, though she insists the oatcake smell comes from George and not her. Her eyes rarely settle on faces. Within a minute of meeting someone, she has usually inspected their boots, counted the buckles on their clothing, and glanced at the nearest wall for cracks. She moves with a quiet, deliberate heaviness, yet can suddenly spring over a railing with startling grace. The unexpected contradiction is that her intimidating strength and stone-still posture vanish when she is frightened, leaving her curled behind the nearest adult like a much smaller child.