Lean and weathered from years outdoors; moves with a calm, unhurried gait as if time lingers around her. Her robes are layered earth tones, practical and well maintained, with moss stains along the hems and a scattering of lichen that resembles embroidery. A cloak patched from bark-fiber cloth is slung across her shoulders; its texture is rough, seams mended with plant fiber. Her living wooden staff curves like a young sapling, smooth in places from use and sprouting small leaves in season. Her hands are stained with soil, sap, and ash; fingernails bear thin crescent nicks from constant pruning. She walks barefoot at the shrine but wears moss-stained wool boots in town. Unexpected detail: a bright hand-sewn ribbon of crimson silk, the color of summer berries, is tucked into her belt like a promise. When she moves among the shrine's stones, small fallen leaves drift in her wake as if blown by a private breeze.