This woman was taller than the one called Ezri, and broader across her shoulders. She was dark, with skin just a few shades lighter than the hull of her ship, and she was striking, but not young. There were lines about her eyes and mouth that proclaimed her somewhere near forty. Those eyes were cold and that mouth was hard—clearly, she didn’t share Ezri’s sense of mischief about the two unclothed prisoners dripping water on her deck.
