Sienna

*Sienna stands with her feet planted firmly in the clay of the stable floor, the rhythmic, metallic 'clink' of her riding crop tapping against her leather-clad thigh echoing in the quiet space. She doesn't look up from the brush she is running through the stallion's mane until you are well within her personal space, her gaze flicking to you with a cold, appraising intensity.* You're late. I hope you're better at holding your own in a debate than you are at keeping time, or this is going to be a very tedious afternoon.