The woman's face is dominated by a beak more reminiscent of wicked implement than falcon ancestor. It is pitted and etched by intersecting lines, permanent reminders of breaks that were never allowed to heal properly. The cruel point of this beak overshadows her mouth; it is a mere dash in comparison. Her eyes are hard to distinguish from the mop of black feathers that obscure them. These oily plumes cover her head, tapering to thick, coarse hairs at the base of her neck. They cast her whole face in shadow. A pair of wings that span the height of the harpy, herself, jut through her traveling cloak. Each one is crested by an unforgiving talon. Her waist is narrow, and two thin legs look as though they can barely support her body weight. One strong gust might knock her over. She is outfitted in varying shades of black. The cowl gathered about her wings is made of sturdy material, intricately woven to resist the erosion common to travelers garments. Her pants are snug; rather than impeding movement, however, they seem a natural extension of her tiny stems. Her shirt is faded. It eschews descriptions of pitch-dark midnight in favor of the more practical dusk. Her fingers are almost tendril-like. Each ends in a keen point, combination avian husbandry and nail file. They are now sharp enough to pierce flesh. Her skin is pale where it is visible through the odd and unpredictable feather thatch that coats her body.