The soft skin, the regal nose and chin, and most importantly the haughty demenor scream "noble". Her eyes and demenor vary on how you find her.

She could be the calm unflappable noble you'd expect if you were to see her in a tavern, her social training excerting itself.

Or should you see her in a fight, you'd likely see something very different. She has a rather terrifying expression in combat.

She wears what was once a fine noblewoman's dress, silk and fashion and careful embroidery that involved hundreds if not thousands of hours of skilled labor. It's now a ruin. The hem has been pulled up to above the knee, the material scavenged for bandages, a slingshot, and countless tiny tools that kept her alive over the past few months. The shiny metalic discs on her belt and jewlery have either been pawned or crudely turned into ammo for said sling. Her shoes were abandoned long ago: she wears boots two sizes two large, heavily reinforced with padding to make them reasonably comfortable.

Her arms and legs, once fair and alabaster, are now tan, and covered in a patchwork of barely healed scars, some of which look quite nasty. She's very well muscled for a halfling. A skilled eye might pick up the muleback cord on her shoulders.

She has no visible weapons beyond what any traveler might carry: a slingshot
and a dagger.

She does wear armor though it's hard to make out the mithril shirt under her clothing, and she carries a darkwood buckler on her left arm.

On her back is a backpack, and she carries numerous small pouches festooned with sling bullets, and she has numerous flasks on her body.

And her once perfectly coifed hair? Look, she did the best she could. At least there was plenty of water where she was, but she had to cut out a lot of hair that kept getting caught on brambles. What remains has been tied into a pony tail.