Sienna's POV
I came back to myself face down in the dirt.
For a moment I didn't move. I simply lay there, cataloguing the damage the way I had learned to do a long time ago, back when bruises were a regular feature of my life and I had to decide very quickly each morning what I could push through and what would slow me down.
My head was the worst of it. The blow from behind had left a dull, nauseating throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeat, spreading from the base of my skull outward. My wrists were raw, the skin rubbed down to something tender and angry beneath where the rope had bitten in. There was blood on my upper lip, dried now, which meant I had been out long enough for it to crust over.
I took stock of that calmly. Or as calmly as I could manage with my face in the dirt.
