Nera is a lean, long-limbed wood elf with the compact strength of someone who carries sacks, climbs walls, and sleeps lightly. Her copper-brown skin has a muted olive cast, like polished bark under lamplight. Her black hair is cut bluntly at the jaw on one side and hangs to her shoulder on the other, because she trims it herself with a kitchen knife and refuses to pay for vanity. She moves with a workwoman's economy, never quite still, always shifting her weight as if the floor might become unreliable. Her breathing is nearly silent until she is frightened, when she begins counting each breath under her tongue. The unexpected thing is her hands: broad-palmed and heavily callused, more suited to a cooper or mason than a pickpocket. She leaves the impression of someone practical, watchful, and perpetually halfway through a difficult chore.