Broad-shouldered and deliberate, Bess moves like someone who has carried barrels and people for years. Her hands are quick and sure, more used to pouring and patching than to fighting. Her face is warm and weathered; laugh lines run deep, but there is a tightness at the corners of her mouth when she thinks no one sees. Her apron is oil-dark at the hems and embroidered with a faded white crane. She favors simple work shirts rolled to the elbows, though she keeps a thin silver chain with a small brass key that she fingers when anxious. Unexpected element: when she leans forward to listen she becomes almost painfully still and birdlike, betraying a long habit of eavesdropping.