Along the crescent curve of Nerine’s grey shores, the Leviathan queen stood alone.  The scene played about before her eyes again, and again; the fighting, the anger, the hurt, the rage, the confusion and pain.  It may have been the tenth or twentieth time she recalled the scene seemingly deeply rooted in the sands of her homeland.   Through solemn dark eyes, she watches and wonders who they were, who they are, who they had been.  There were no audible sounds with the vision, or any clear physical indicators that might be recognizable—they merely appeared as dim dancing shadows before her hungered eyes.  It had been the first vision to pour itself into her own mess of thoughts and emotion, and still the one who’s reasoning remained elusive to her.  Though the weight of emotions the unknown pair seemed to possess no longer affected her directly, it did little to remedy the haunting feeling that coiled within.

Breckin had nearly fully grown into her powers at this point in her life, practicing and honing her skill set until their uses could easily be called upon.  Really, she had had little choice—accept them, or be overcome by them.

A call rising from the southernmost border begs for her attention, and she releases the ghostly memory of someone unknown back to the earth from which she’d called it.

Her dark eyes find Naila’s painted silhouette easily as she draws closer to the edge of Nerine’s boundaries, smiling softly at the now familiar taste of the maiden’s sweet cheerfulness.  But her expression slightly wanes, feeling the brush of something more viscous against the filly’s mind frame as opposed to the more feather light weight she usually carries.  An omen perhaps, had she the desire to delve deeper into the young Leviathan’s memories immediately.  But the leopard woman bars the idea for now, her eyes falling onto a bay mare cloaked in Loess’s scent that followed in Nalia’s wake.

The pounding of untapped memories rises painfully between her eyes—a similar sensation she’d felt when she’d visited Klaudius—and she can’t stop the minor wince the sensation elicits.  Breckin takes a moment to check herself, reminding herself not for the first time to avoid getting into the habit of prying into a stranger’s memories, even if said stranger has a an altogether disconcerting vibe to them.  Resolving her thoughts to allow the Loessian mare the opportunity to speak for herself, she redraws the lines of her mouth into a smile again.  Still, she can’t help but wonder if the mahogany mare would give her good reason to tap into those memories she carried.

“Hello Nalia,” she says in greeting to the girl, before redirecting her attention back to the newcomer, ”Aside from Arthas, I believe you are the only other Loessian interested in passing our borders.  I’m Breckin, welcome to Nerine.”