#action;

Then he feels a small creature alight on his shoulder. He doesn't need to look to know who it is, but he does anyway. Of course he does.

You'll see me again, Flapjack had said to him back then. Lark didn't dare to hope that it would be literal, but at least here, now, in his dreams, the bird is as vibrant a red as he was when they first met. 

They don't need to say anything. Their shared love is understood. For a time, in that nebulous dreamspace, they just sit and enjoy one another's company.

When Lark wakes, it's with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips. The weathered carving he sleeps with is as pale blue and motionless as ever, but this morning, it doesn't sadden him. He runs his thumb fondly over Flapjack's crest before rolling out of bed to get ready for the day.

Some weekends, the squad comes with him to the forest. When he isn't carving, Lark helps Willow and Dell tend the palistrom trees with Plant magic. The rest of the group does what they can physically, planting and watering saplings and keeping the area clean and safe.

Everyone socializes with the older Palismen who've yet to find their witches. It would make sense for their numbers to lessen as more of them bond with their partners, but more and more have actually seemed to venture out of the old forests in the time since Belos' defeat and the fall of the Coven system, almost faster than witches can take them in. Which is fine by Lark, really. He's happy that they feel safe enough to show themselves. And even with their magic helping some of the trees grow large enough to harvest a branch or two here and there, the palistrom forest is still so thin that he feels guilty with each cut he takes.

Once all the trees have been checked on, and the wild Palismen are entertained, he contemplates the latest branch. Having carved a couple dozen by now, he has a good idea of how many he can make while wasting the least amount of wood. He stares long enough that he feels eyes on himself as well.

Someone eventually asks what they're all wondering. Is he ever going to carve for himself?

And, as he has each time he's held a block in his hands, Lark considers it. But today, unlike every other time, he doesn't feel an overwhelming longing to do so. He feels lighter, somehow, as if a long-shouldered burden has been lifted.

"No," he answers with both softness and finality. "I don't think I need to anymore. I just want to help other people find their partners... I want to make up for all the damage I caused. Hopefully... put more kindness out there than all the hurt, you know?"

It makes sense, in a way. They've all been there for him since he lost Flap. They've all seen his growth. Luz and Gus as his siblings and Willow and Nico as his partners all have sad but knowing smiles for him, in their own ways.

Just as he sets the branch down to start his cuts, something in the canopy moves. A figure swoops down toward him, and if it weren't for the color, Lark would swear he knows the silhouette. But the old bird-shaped Palisman that lands on his outstretched hand is blue. 

They stare at one another for a moment before Lark lifts his other hand to stroke its head. Come to think of it, he does recall seeing this one among the others occasionally, but it's never approached him before now.

"Nice to finally meet you," he says with a relieved, breathy laugh. 

Waffles coos in response, and he understands her.

My little Lark, I've been waiting for you.

.

.

.

You had gone uptown just to steal supplies. Being a wealthy trade city on the sea, Piltover had access to things that no where else did. Sure, you could get it on the black markets of Zaun but maybe things required knowledge of connections or they were of questionable quality. You would know; you’d gotten most of your pain medication from dealers in Zaun and sometimes it was literally mixed with a saline solution. If you wanted assured quality, you wanted Piltover.

As you pointed your crossbow at a cowering woman, demanding she hand over all her goods --”For the last time, I don’t want your money! Just hand over all of your window cleaner!”-- someone must have alerted her. Perhaps she’d been following two steps behind you this whole time and had been waiting for you to slip up. Or maybe she’d always been two steps ahead of you.

The moment you stepped outside with your ill-gotten goods, your eyes catch movement for just the slightest second. It happens so fast that it’s a miracle you move in time. Caitlyn is known for her excellent aim with her sniper rifle. Even when she misses the headshot, she still hits you. The bullet embeds itself into the muscle of your shoulder, shattering the bone there.

You drop everything with a pained squeal, stumbling back and grabbing your shoulder. Blood oozes out from the wound, unnaturally thick and a blackish red as if it was dirty. She takes aim again and you run, darting around the wall of a building into an alleyway. The chase is on.

As you run, officers start to show up to cut you off, Hextech weapons in tow as they take shots at you. In your panic, you miss how your blood trails behind you in splattered droplets on the paved ground. You run. You keep running until you find a sewer entrance. All pipes lead to home. The sewer system of Piltover is connected to that of Zaun, you just have to travel downwards and you do.

When you toss the manhole cover to the side and jump into the gently slopped spiraling pipe that you’re safe. Then you hear shouts above, people chasing you. A man jumps in after you and you take a few shots at him with your crossbow while he takes a shot in return. He’s not Caitlyn but the bullets hit your chest.

Pain blossoms in your chest, burning like it was on fire. It’s suddenly hard to breathe but adrenaline makes your heart race. Your aim isn’t much better but what shots you do land fill your attacker with toxins that cause him to fall to his knees in a matter of seconds. It all happens so fast and yet it feels so much longer.

More people start to drop into the sewer, one of them being Caitlyn, and you run. That’s all you can do is run and run, darting through the different tunnel systems, dipping under the water in an attempt to hide the blood trail you leave behind. They might have a world-class hunter on their side, but this is your territory. You know where to go in this labyrinth. It hurts though, hurts to the point that your vision is blurry and you can’t think straight. It hurts so much but you can’t stop or you are certain you’ll die.

After almost twenty minutes of dodging and ducking through the maze of tunnels, you think you may have actually lost them. You keep descending, lightheaded and staggering through the refuse. Eventually, you make it do the familiar tunnels of the Sump, where your lab is.

You practically trip over your own feet as you enter the cold, dirty, dimly lit room. It’s the same as it’s always been but it terrifies you. Your heart is pounded and it’s a struggle to breathe. The unnatural thickness of your blood probably saved you from bleeding out quickly with the unfortunate side effect that you would bleed out slowly.

It’s a few stumbling steps over to your single mattress on the ground and you drop yourself on it like dead weight. You pull your clothes off, trying to stop the bleeding but you can’t get your hands to stop shaking. Your clothes are absolutely soaked in your own blood and sewage water, and soon the mattress is covered in blood too. It hurts, and you’re scared.

You’re going to die alone here. No one will ever even know where your body is. You’ll never see your papa or your brothers or your mama again, and they’ll never even know what’s happened to you. A sob crawls up from your throat, and another, and another.