In the early days, she's a calm but stern presence. While the other caretakers act with unvarnished kindness and gentleness around those they treat, easing them in to the idea of treatments, quarantine and the possibility of more extreme measures, Wren is altogether different. She moves with unremitting purpose, speaks clearly, and gives confident commands with a tone that betrays absolutely no doubt that they will be followed. She still affords the patients smiles, talks gently but candidly with them, and offers comfort like the rest—but unique among her staff, she projects a kind of assured, focused wherewithal that gives those she watches over hope and confidence that she knows exactly what's going on and is in complete control.

In the later days of a tough quarantine, though, her demeanor changes drastically. She vanishes from the bedsides and dwells in guard towers and reinforced town halls. Her face disappears behind her mask for the rest of her stay, she blankets every street corner with vigils of curious crows watching with glinting violet eyes, and eventually, she dons her armor.

Ideally, from then on, she is never again seen by a patient. Her presence is a distant one, felt only through the Flock under her guidance. Her Flock remains kind, caring and empathetic, but she becomes as stone, weighed with the knowledge of exactly what needs to be done. If someone should escape quarantine, if an outsider should seek to intervene, if an uprising should come to pass, Wren will be there, ready to defend what she knows is the right thing.