There's something faintly paradoxical about this woman. There's an earthen solidity to her, manifested in the compactness of her form, her light coppery skin, the short and slightly frizzy dark brown hair pulled back in a thin braided tail. And yet at the same time, in her stillness and self-containment, her quiet tread and the habitual darkness of her garb, she seems also to belong to the shadows. But once one truly takes note of her, the poise and dignity of her bearing are striking, and when she moves a fluid grace appears in all her motion. There is a proud cast to her nose and mouth, and a stubborn set to her jaw. Most of all, there is her eyes: not merely dark, but black and liquid as ink, with a gaze both guarded and curiously intense. Just as curious, her low voice possesses a wonderfully melodious cadence which is utterly spoiled by a pebbly rasp.
