Thalira moves like a blade honed for court as much as combat: precise footfalls, shoulders squared, every motion measured. Her face is long and aristocratic, high cheekbones softened by a perpetual half-smile that tends toward tired amusement. Her hair is braided into an elaborate coif at the nape—silver threads braided into the dark chestnut—yet the braid looks frequently loosened at the end and tied back with a rough leather thong. She wears a captain's surcoat over travel-worn leathers; the surcoat bears the Vael'aran rose, immaculate and slightly faded at the edges. In sunlight her skin carries the faint metallic sheen of someone who spends time outdoors; up close, small, careful scars pepper her fingers and forearms. Contradiction: despite the effortless nobility and immaculate surcoat, her boots are badly scuffed and one knee of her trousers is patched with a farmer's coarse cloth. She leaves the impression of someone who belongs in a hall and in a forest at once.