A tall, lean owlin with layered plumage that shifts from storm-gray at the back to pale dove at the throat. Serethi moves with surprising silence; each step is a small glide as if perpetually riding a breath of wind. Their face is framed by a furred ruff that fans wide when excited and seals flat when contemplative. They wear a thin circlet of braided cloudvine that rests like a halo above their brow, and their beak is faintly chipped—a pale crescent mark from a youthful incident. Contradiction: though they exude fragile, scholarlike delicacy—hands thin, feathers soft—their shoulders bear faint battle-scarred pinfeathers and a small tattooed sigil beneath one wing, hinting at a past in which they did more than preach.