In the shadows there waits Zetana. She is slim and small but has a look more menacing than any woman Bandit’s ever seen. Her hair is a shaggy black mass that spills about her face and shoulders; her eyes are rimmed in koal, and her pupils are like ebony stones gleaming from the amid the hard, dark lines of her face. She is all in black: studded black synthleather vest and pants, boots, and a voluminous cloak that reaches nearly to her ankles. Necklaces and beads hang from her neck; a confusion of bangles and rings surround her wrists and fingers. Her voice is husky, soft and low, like a snarl.