Mary led Falcon into The Buffalo Jump’s back room, an airless, windowless broom closet furnished in Early Squalor. Following Mary’s instructions, the ganger settled himself on the floor, forcing his legs into an approximation of the full-lotus position. The young shaman crouched facing him, placed a small metal bowl between them. Wordlessly, she opened the beaded pouch on her belt, pulled out various kinds of leaves and what looked like dried herbs, all wrapped in small swatches of velvet. Some she tossed right into the bowl, others she crushed between her palms before adding them to the mix. Sharp odors stung Falcon’s nose, caught in the back of his throat.