Narrowing!
There were about six people standing at the bar, and three of them I knew already. I also knew the bartender, but even if Mrs. Annie did hire werewolves she still wouldn’t let her workers drink on duty. That left three possibles: human male vaquero, halfling male prospector, human female… huh. She was wearing a shiny-bright deputy’s star. Dressed as you’d expect a wandering freelance lawman to be, too: dust-caked red leather poncho and denim jeans, with empty holsters where six-shooters and an Ansteorra knife would normally abide. Palish skin, though, with only a hint of a tan.
She was in the process of seeing off the vaquero when I sidled up to the bar. Given the stage of drunkenness that guy was in, it mostly involved reminding the guy how he just said he was leaving. As he finally staggered off, I mentally ticked him off my list — and, after a moment, ticked her off it, too. Shape-shifters might not shrivel up and die if they see silver, but they don’t like it much. Lawmen wear the star for a reason.