Teggan is a broad, low-slung woman with the dense, grounded posture of someone built to brace doors during riots. Her skin has the texture of old candle wax over dark iron, warm brown at a distance but faintly metallic around the knuckles and jaw. Her mouth is too wide when she smiles, revealing square, polished teeth with tiny black grooves between them. She eats with meticulous silence, cutting every bite into identical pieces, then crushes it with a slow grinding motion that makes nearby listeners lose their appetite. Her hair is shaved close at the sides and gathered into a severe gray-black knot threaded with red cord. She moves without hurry, yet always seems to arrive beside the person most in danger. The unexpected contradiction is her hands: huge, callused, and capable of breaking a wrist, but kept obsessively clean and scented with bitter orange peel.