The model is a white base, with the cover serving as a reference for coloring.
That green hooded cloak, perpetually stained with pine needles and moss, is Hazhen’s second skin. A withered oak leaf is pinned to the edge of the hood—not as decoration, but as a token of her connection with the forest. She may be small, but the short bow and quiver on her back are anything but modest.
Hazhen’s boots are always damp, because she spends ten times more time walking on the forest floor than on the road. Her leather armor is adorned with plant-based totems, each line carrying its own meaning: three leaves on her left shoulder signify “the north wind has arrived,” while the tree-root motif on her right arm indicates “there’s a spring beneath the ground.” These symbols form her very own navigation system—no one else can decipher them.
She speaks little, yet her ears are exceptionally sharp. She can tell which squirrel is stealing nuts from three hundred paces away, and she can sense from the scent of the wind whether it will rain tomorrow. Her teammates share a simple rule: if Hazhen suddenly stops and pricks up her ears—shut up and follow her.
“The forest doesn’t speak, but it’s always giving us answers.”