There midst trees you could notice a cloaked figure, leaning on a old knotted staff, soon disappearing from your eyesight as if she was just an apparition. This woman, in her late adulthood, held herself with determination, her skin darker then in average Breelander, hair long and thick, braided in one long braid that fell over her shoulder to the front. Open but with hint of wildling her face was, chipped with wrinkles of age and weather that didn't touch much the clear green eyes. 

Her robes were thick, leather and furs, bag over her shoulder full, and bedroll tied to her back over the cloak. One could even think she is a kin of a rangers, if she was not under average high.

If one would hear her speak of late, her voice would be deep and velvety.