Qalithra Drak'myn

Qalithra Drak’ myn keeps her long tail in a tight loop through the brush, using it to haul tripwire saplings into place. Her green-brown scales are scored with old knife marks from hunts that went wrong, and cold yellow eyes track every breath in the dark. She smells of wet hide and crushed juniper. When she speaks, it’s low and clipped—always bargaining, never forgiving.