Sazanna is a broad-shouldered half-giant woman standing just under nine feet tall, with the grounded, careful balance of someone accustomed to moving through kitchens built for smaller people. She is heavily pregnant, carrying high and forward, and her enormous belly is wrapped in layered linen bands embroidered with tiny wheat sheaves. Her movements are slow only at first glance. She turns with deliberate grace, then reaches with startling speed when a tray is about to fall or a child wanders near an open oven. Her hands are huge, square-palmed, and permanently dusted with flour that has worked into the lines of her skin. She smells of browned butter, woodsmoke, cardamom, and clean rain, though she insists the rain smell comes from the village well. Her dark eyes rarely settle on a speaker's face. Instead, they track hands, doorways, knives, and the position of every person in the room. The unexpected contradiction is her delicate voice and meticulous taste: she can lift a loaded grain cart, yet becomes visibly distressed if a pastry is cut unevenly.