Thranndra is broad-shouldered and heavily built, with the compact strength of someone who has spent years hauling sacks through cramped cellars rather than swinging a great weapon. Her olive-brown skin is permanently filmed with fine pale dust that settles into the creases of her knuckles, the lines around her mouth, and the short bristles along her jaw. Her lower tusks are small but sharply squared, and one has been capped with a dull brass sleeve engraved with a trader's mark. She moves with an unsettling economy, never wasting a step or turning her whole body when only her eyes need to move. Within a minute of meeting her, most people notice that she repeatedly checks the weight of every object in her hands, even harmless things such as a cup or a child's toy. The contradiction is immediate: she looks like a pit fighter, but handles fragile goods with the reverence of a jeweler.