Branwen moves like water over root and stone. She is lithe, with the slow, purposeful steps of someone who measures impact. Her skin bears faint, silvery streaks where lichen grew into childhood scars. She wears a mantle of woven reed and moss that looks freshly damp at one moment and dusted with starlight the next. Her left forearm is tattooed with a map of the Old Canopy's oldest groves: the ink fades and re-inkens depending on moonlight, as if tracking the woodland's pulse. Contradiction: she favors practical leather boots for human roads yet leaves a single bare foot unshod when teaching saplings to remember the soil.