Short, no-nonsense presence that reads like a folded map. She moves with efficient economy, each gesture practiced and purposeful. Her hands are callused and stained from ale and flour in unequal measure. She wears a leather half-apron scarred with burn marks and the faint pattern of a child's doodled initials etched into one corner. When she smiles it is brief and earned, and when she frowns a river of tiny crinkles runs from the outer corners of one eye to the other. Unexpectedly, she keeps a small, immaculate paper crane tucked inside her apron pocket that she straightens absentmindedly whenever nervous.