Thief.

Deorla left the kin house before dawn, cloaked in her ranger garb—muddy greens and deep browns, worn soft with years. It blended well with the trees, the moss, and more importantly, with anonymity. She carried no banners, spoke to no one. The fewer eyes on her back, the better. 

The next time Basaran saw the little thief he’d caught robbing his house, she was arguing with a vendor in Bree, feigning outrage at being accused of theft.  The vendor’s threats rang in her ears, the usual, about cutting her fingers off, mention of The Watch, jail and such.  It was whilst this scolding was taking place and the bread being prised from her hand that she saw the young Captain watching her from the steps of Three Farrows with some amusement.