If Leviathan had been so unlucky to have her own children, it seemed likely that they would have starved or drowned within their first week.

Such was the luck of the sea swathed mare. Her own mother had been the sort to simply cast her away once she was independent enough, telling a once small, skinny and young black filly that she had the sort of strength that could last eons if she channelled it properly. Leviathan had never been the mothering sort, though children often enticed her and seemed to pull her out of the shadows, she never really had the sort of desire that made her want to go forth and copulate.

Perhaps it was because men were entirely hormone driven, useless beasts that were only useful for a good fight here and there.

Looking down at the filly, the dark mare watches as she makes to rise, her dark eyes skimming across the girl’s markings and trying to figure out if she had seen the girl’s mother. With nothing springing to mind immediately, the dark mare flicks one ear back at the child’s answer. It was common for youth to be filled to the brim with questions and queries, as the black mare had discovered early on in life, and so the palomino’s answer seemed a little predictable. Though Leviathan really had no clue what else she was expecting.

Certainly, the honesty answer to the girl’s mirrored question was that Leviathan had wanted to see just how far the ocean stretched between the islands, but she knew that children spoke of what they heard, and it seemed likely that the girl could tell the wrong sort of person what the black mare had been doing. “A storm.” She had in fact been whisked away from her home thanks to a storm of sorts, and so it made sense that she should be stranded here. “Won’t your mother be worrying about you?”