She was Amerindian, with straight black hair gathered into a braid that hung halfway down her back. She wore what Falcon considered traditional Plains-tribe garb: a deerskin tunic over wrapped leggings and beaded moccasins on her feet. Feathers, beaded fetishes, and other talismans covered her clothing. Though she was small, almost tiny, something about her demeanor made Falcon feel more like she was looking down at him from some superior height. Frag that drek. I’m the one with the gun, he reminded himself.