[Neptune.]

Lark
she/her

Sleep does not come easy to her anymore. When she closes her eyes all Lark can see are the faces of those she failed to protect, the ones whose blood stains her paws. Falconfeather. Minkpaw. She should have been there for them. Should have protected them. But she didn't. Her fault. All her fault.

"You doin' ok, there?" A gruff, accented voice asks, and Lark's head snaps to attention immediately, always on edge, nerves frayed at the edges and jumpy. It's only Humphrey. The old grey barn cat waddles over to her, a fat rat in his jaws. "Thought you migh' be hungry," he says simply, dropping the rat at her paws and licking his fuzzy lips. "You didn' eat yesterday, so now ol' Humphrey is gonna sit right here til you finish at leas some o' that there rat." His voice is good natured enough, but Lark knows the old cat well enough by now to know that he'll stubbornly sit there the whole night until she finishes a bite or two of the mean he brought her.

"...thank you, Humphrey," she says, voice small and hoarse. The she-cat leans over to take a small bite from the rat, if only so she won't be chewed out later. It's dry and stringy in her mouth, and it takes effort to chew, but once she swallows, Lark has to admit that the food is good and leaves her belly warm.

"That ain't so hard, now, is it?" The barn cat asks, and Lark tries to give him a smile. She's not sure it reaches her eyes.

"Thank you, again, for letting me stay here - for a little while, at least, I appreciate it."

"Ah, shoot, s'no problem at all, really. 'Sides, that gash on your there leg looked real nasty. How's it healed up?"

Lark straightens her back leg out, examining the new scars on her flank with a frown. The muscles are stiff, and her range of motion isn't what it used to be. She's lucky it healed at all without getting infected. "It's... ok..." is her answer, but maybe her upset is apparent, because Humphrey frowns sympathetically. She takes another bite of the rat, the prey feeling thick in her throat, mostly so she can avoid speaking any more.

"Well," Humphrey says, "I'm sure you'll find a way to work with it, you clan cats always seem to!" Lark winces at that, but the old barn cat doesn't seem to notice, because he gets up and leaves her to her peace a moment later.

Lark pushes the rat away from her, she doesn't think she can eat another bite. Sullenly, the tortoiseshell curls into a tight ball, closing her eyes and praying her sleep is not plagued by any more nightmares.



She stirs to wakefulness again greeted by the soft rumbling of purrs, a weight pressed into her side, and a comforting tail running down her spine. The scent that fills her nose is one that's familiar to her, yet she hasn't scented in a long time. Her mother. Startled by this, emerald eyes flash open and her head springs up, gaze locking with amber, entranced by the warmth she finds within their depths - something she never saw when her mother had been alive.

"M-momma..?" Lark manages to push out, stammer filled with disbelief and barely contained joy. Her mother was here! She was visiting her! A purr rumbles to life in Lark's chest, uncontrollable and so very hopeful. "Momma what're you doing here? Am I- does this mean I'm dead..?" She wants to collapse into the embrace, but she does not allow herself that luxury.