Coral Tanith spent much of her younger life doing the sort of things that sound considerably more appealing when they're happening to someone else. She traveled constantly, explored remote places, took dangerous jobs, got involved in situations she had no business being involved in, and accumulated enough improbable stories that new friends occasionally assume she's making them up. Coral rarely bothers correcting them. These days, if somebody announces that an ancient ruin has been discovered somewhere inaccessible, her first instinct is not excitement. It's to wonder whether the site has adequate drainage.

Eventually, Coral realized she'd had enough adventure for one lifetime and went back to school. Now she works as a landscape architect, designing parks, trails, gardens and public spaces that encourage people to slow down and enjoy being somewhere rather than constantly trying to reach somewhere else. She's very good at it. Her serpentine body also gives her a somewhat unusual perspective on accessibility, circulation and how differently people experience the same physical space, something she quietly considers an advantage in her work.

Warm, patient, and possessed of a wonderfully dry sense of humor, Coral is difficult to rattle. She has already experienced enough genuine emergencies that most everyday disasters barely register. Missed reservation? Fine. Flat tire? Fixable. Somebody burned dinner? Order pizza. Her calm has made her the friend people instinctively call when things go sideways, although Coral would strongly prefer they occasionally call when everything is going perfectly well too.

Despite her enormous serpentine frame, Coral's pleasures are wonderfully ordinary. She loves books, long walks along the coast, tea with friends, gardening, and golf, a sport she enjoys despite maintaining that having several meters of body behind the club has done absolutely nothing useful for her swing. She also possesses an inexplicable fondness for Costco and can spend a Saturday afternoon there with the serene focus of someone exploring a particularly well-stocked temple.

Coral doesn't regret her adventurous years. They gave her stories, confidence, and a very clear understanding of what she actually wanted from life. It turns out the answer wasn't danger, treasure, or another dramatic horizon. It was good friends, satisfying work, somewhere comfortable to curl up with a book, and a life quiet enough that nothing is currently trying to kill her.

The only mystery she refuses to explain is how she fits into a regular car.