Not as tall as the fair-haired Rohirrim to the east, and lacking in the golden, blue-eyed beauty of her kinfolk, Beyrith's appearance is a peculiar melange that cares little for adhering to expectation. She is neither lofty nor petite, with thick locks that resemble raw honey in the hive, and watchful eyes of smoked quartz. Her brows are darkly arched and leave her with an expression of mild mistrust or suspicion, save for the rare moments when her full lips deign to smile.

Her clothing is that of one whose life is spent mainly on the road or in the wild. Thick furs and weather-stained leathers encase a hale, feminine frame, oft swathed in a grey, woollen cloak and hood. The softness of oiled boots, long worn over endless miles, mean that her passage may go without notice. No care is taken to hide the pair of daggers on her belt. 

(Banner art: https://www.deviantart.com/samburley/art/Forest-01-245812087?q=favby%3Axx23reasonsxx%2F11563075&qo=943)