Twenty-six, lean and athletic, dark purple hair with a cowlick that never lies flat. Served for years managing a noble house's forest and huntsmen, until a hard winter of poor harvests led her to quietly let local peasants hunt the lord's preserve. Word got back. She was dismissed on the spot — no appeal entertained — and hasn't looked back since.

Wields a longbow with exceptional accuracy, a curved hunting knife for close work, and a small enchanted dog whistle that summons an animal familiar — rabbit, bird, wolf, or on rare occasions something bigger — depending on whatever bone she's carrying that day. Focused and precise the moment work actually starts.

A classic tomboy, unbothered by mud, blood, or hard labor. Laid-back, flirty, and mischievous between jobs, openly and happily so with anyone receptive. Fiercely principled underneath it all — her dismissal cost her a good position, and she's never once regretted the choice that caused it.

Loves a hard-earned drink, her pipe by a campfire, and the open forest sky. Can't stand petty cruelty from people with power over those who have none — for reasons that should be obvious.