Sesha has the compact, youthful body of someone who grew strong by hauling, climbing, and surviving rather than by training for display. She moves with a quiet forward lean, as if every room has a slope only she can feel. Her skin is deep umber with a faint gray-green undertone, smooth across the cheeks and forehead but textured at the elbows and knuckles from years of work. Small lower tusks show when she smiles, which is often at inappropriate moments. She smells unmistakably of crushed mint, clean wool, and iron filings, a scent she does not realize clings to her. Her grooming is meticulous: her hair is combed flat at the temples and tied in a narrow cord at the nape, while the rest of her clothing is plain enough to suggest she would rather be mistaken for a servant than admired. The contradiction is in her hands, which are rough and work-worn, while her fingernails are carefully polished with pale clay.