Lark rising from sullen earth

Tribe of Floating Stones

longhair brown ticked tabby tom with amber eyes

Lark is tall and long-legged, but not so much that he appears lanky. A thick, soft pelt deceptively hides much of his frame and gives him a bulkier appearance. His speed and endurance are not to be underestimated, though. In fact, brute strength is where his weaknesses lie. He's not well-versed in battle and, even though he's a strong tom, he doesn't like to push his weight around. He much prefers the value in being fast and nimble. The wind rushing through his fur is a feeling he will never tire of.

His pelt is no single shade of brown; with darker outlines, lighter undersides, and a distinctly russet hue. There is one characteristic to set him apart from the crowd, which is the bold black line that trails all the way down his spine, where it bleeds into black ticking.

Large, ovular amber eyes peer out from a face with distinct features. Lark has a broad, slightly elongated muzzle with a tapered jawline that give his head a diamond shape and his cheeks an angular appearance. The fur around his upper neck is fluffier, lighter-colored. It frames his face in such a way that these traits stand out all the more.

Lark is cheerful and he's not afraid to show it. He's grown up in such dreary times for the Tribe and he could let it bring him down. Instead, he chooses to rise above it, living up to his namesake with ease. He believes that is his purpose, that is what he was named for; to uplift others and bring joy to everyone around him.

That is to say, he's seen his fair share of darkness, death, danger. The three D's of damnation. These things get to him as much as the next cat, but he tries his best. Seeing the pain in others' eyes gives him strength to carry on for those that have passed and to see a better future so that no one else has to die unnecessarily. He's a forward thinker, choosing to leave behind those things he can't change, focusing instead on what he can.

To the surprise of some others, he is not quite as faithful to their ancestors as he might be supposed to. Sure, he believes in them. However, he doesn't think the ghosts of dead cats are anywhere near powerful or all-knowing. He doesn't blame them for much of what's befallen his world, but he also doesn't thank them for the good in it either. He believes that the living are in control of their destinies and, while it's a nice thought that there may be some stardusty old grandcats watching over them, he doesn't think much else of it.

All this heart filled with fun and joy, all this belief in control over your own destiny, and all the strength that comes from that. But everyone has their downfalls, their fears, their flaws. Lark is no exception to this rule. In fact, there's a lot he's afraid of in spite of his surface-level bravery. And have you ever seen him with an injury? Biggest kit in the universe!

For all the happiness he tries to bring others, the comfort, the games, the fun, the laughter, the... well, you get the gist. For all of that, he often leaves himself out of the equation. At the end of the day, when the sun sets, and you find yourself alone in your nest... and you can't sleep because you can't help but to wonder about everything that could be, you might find yourself unsatisfied with your life as it is.

Lark longs for bigger and better things, more adventures, more territory, more prey, more this, more that. He can become impatient waiting for the world to come to him; he believes that it won't. This impatience has come to a boiling point and he's ready to truly take matters into his own paws. No more waiting around for the prey to crawl into their mouths, metaphorically speaking.

And yet, and yet! He fears that which he doesn't know, he paws at the line between. Quite a personal conundrum for him. So much indecision and, consequentially, self-frustration. He never knows what he'll do until he does it. In all his desperation to innovate and improvise, to make the world a bigger place for the Tribe, he lacks the forethought to wonder what could happen if it all goes wrong.

Peak where Eagles Nest, a prey-hunter for the Tribe, is well-respected among them as one of the best. When she grew heavy with kits, everyone looked forward to welcoming strong, healthy kits. However, behind the veil of her happiness, Peak was overstressed.

She didn't take to pregnancy well and she struggled to accept that she would be raising these kits on her own. There was no family to support her, having lost them to the sickness and other such natural things. The father of the kits remained unannounced, having decided against taking part in any of it beyond his fleeting relationship with Peak.

When she birthed three toms, two of them were very sickly. The first was the strongest, kicking and mewling with a spirit that... sadly, went unrivaled. He was the only one to survive the first few hours. However, Peak did not depress at the loss of two of her sons. Instead, the reality of one surviving brought her hope, as did his name; Lark Rising from Sullen Earth. It was truly a poetic, well-timed gift. Peak gave her all in caring for him, ensuring that he would survive, keeping close to the Tribe to provide him safety in numbers.

Lark was just a kit when the sickness came and went from the tribe in devastating waves, picking off those too ill to recover. He watched from the sidelines, wide-eyed and sad. Growing up in such close proximity to many of his Tribe-mates, he had always been accepted as the son of Peak, as a kit that would someday become just as strong and talented as his mother. He was raised on hope, on love. He found strength in unity, so when he had to watch his friends perish slowly, he would turn to these things to keep himself from drowning in all of it.

Peak was always proud of him, her only surviving son, her light in the dark. She encouraged him, supported him, always there to offer her wisdom when he was too childish to understand certain things. He always loved his mother, but as they grew together, they became so strongly bonded that they were inseparable during his moons as a kit.

At the end of the summer, Lark became a to-be. He was both excited and nervous, but he tried to hide this with playful jokes. In fact, the first skill he learned as a to-be was how to deal with nerves. Things became easier after that, and he found ways to have fun in such a tumultuous time for the Tribe.

Lark didn't always know he wanted to be a prey-hunter. At first, he was open to both. Actually, to put it plainly, he couldn't make a decision. But with time and training, he discovered that the role of a hunter was what would suit him best. Peak was pleasantly surprised, having never tried to push him in either direction.

He took to the exhilaration of hunting like a moth to a flame, but... unlike his mother, he was talentless. He was brazen, overzealous, couldn't sneak up on anything to save his life, and thus would hardly ever catch anything. At first, there seemed to be no hope for becoming a prey-hunter. Many of the prey-hunters that tried to teach him grew impatient and annoyed, suggesting that he use his... passion for fighting.

But that wasn't what he wanted. It only made him determined to prove them wrong. Eventually, he found his own unique hunting style thanks to the help and support of his mother. Peak was the only one patient enough, with enough confidence in him, to know that he could master the hunt. Because of her talent and wisdom, she was able to decipher where he could best utilize his own personal strengths - and hone them. His strengths may not lie in stealth, but he'll outrun any old hare, outsmart any dim-witted bird, and leap higher than the nimblest of frogs. Or so he boasts, at least.

When the Clan cats came back to the Tribe, Lark was already a full-fledged prey-hunter. He looked to these strange cats with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment, but he remained on the fringes of the political discussions their arrival would later bring up. Not usually one to hold back his opinion, Lark remained silent on the matter of whether they could be trusted, whether the Tribe should be involved with the Clans or not. He didn't know, truthfully. He could see both sides of the argument.

At least, that wasn't until another wave of the dreaded sickness came back. Lark hovered around his mother like a hawk, trying to protect her from catching it - as if he could barricade her from such things. But he watched her closely, for signs of illness, nervous that it would take her from him. Only... because of RedwoodClan's help, the Tribe knew how to combat it early on, before it could truly cause such longstanding damage. So even when Peak fell sick, she soon made a full recovery.

After that, Lark became convinced that the Tribe needed to expand their reach, to learn more from others beyond their little island. When the storm took the sandbar back into the belly of the lake, he had never felt more abandoned by his ancestors. He wondered, ranted, about why they would do such a thing. That frustration festered like a sore until it grew into a hardened callous. Now, Lark has more of a disregard for all religion and chooses to put his faith in the power of his own paws.