Ketta is a slim young woman with well-muscled arms, a soft-cheeked cherubic face, and the alert posture of someone who expects doors to open suddenly. Her warm olive skin carries a fine golden dusting of freckles across her nose, shoulders, and forearms, while years of wind, road grit, and bowstring work have roughened her knuckles and dried the backs of her hands. Her deep-hazel eyes hold amber flecks that seem brighter under blue-and-gold light. Jaw-length dark brown hair has been cut unevenly with a knife, leaving one side tucked behind her ear and the other brushing her cheek. When she smiles, a slightly prominent upper canine gives her expression an unexpectedly wolfish edge. She moves with patient economy, leaning subtly toward exits even while standing fully upright and facing someone. The contradiction is in her face: she looks gentle enough to be trusted with a child, yet her gaze measures every hand, hinge, and possible line of attack in the room.