let's start over; lark

So desolate, so uncharacteristically barren and void of life; the dull expanse of fractured, onyx pavement that stretched before the obsidian mongrel invoked within him a certain inescapable sense of hopelessness, the lack of hustling activity proving to be an unintentional depressant. It was a truly odd revelation to Lark, to find himself suffering at the hands of solitude. He was very much a creature of isolation, an animal crafted in order to survive on his own – never, did the male feel comfortable within the presence of other living beings. It was ill-fitting, distressing; his lack of riveting conversational skills did little but hinder his ability to connect with others, and thus only left the brute discouraged and unwilling to persevere.

Lark was a resilient, courageous soul, certainly – even yet, the very thought of conversation was enough to cause within him a stir.

Dispassionate, firm ginger eyes remained upon the road as the ebony retriever ambled onwards, his head dipping into neutral alignment with his withers. Lark moved with a certain abruptness, any natural fluidity blatantly absent within his stride. The way he moved was not stunted or awkward, per say, but simply purposeful and stiff; rigid, as though from hours spent enduring some form of hard labour. But, that was simply how the brute was. To be emotional was to be vulnerable, and vulnerability slaughtered as mercilessly and boundlessly as an infuriated grizzly.

“Um. No. No, I need to—” the voice, however feint, immediately drew Lark’s full attention, ears perking forwards as the retriever came to a sudden halt, paw hovering poised just above the ground’s surface as though in fear of placing it upon the pavement once more. It was not the words that had the brute instantly perplexed, but rather the tone of which the female spoke with; perturbed, tense, hesitant. “I’m sorry, I need to go.” The male’s breath hitched, lip twitching as his hackles lifted, visage extending upwards as his nostrils widened in longing for some form of initial warning. “Oddly enough, I agree.”

Male.

With haste Lark’s body shifted, muscle flexing beneath his thick pelt in order to push him into a purposeful trot, auburn eyes narrowing as the brute headed pointedly after the menacing sound. He did not pause to give the action thought, nor did he allow himself the chance to hesitate; the world was an insurmountably cruel place, pertaining within it unimaginable evil and hardship. Should he miss the chance to intervene, a life could be lost – that, unfortunately, was the bottom line.

And, so, the male pushed into a sprint, veering around the back of the gas station in order to lay his eyes upon the pair; a female collie and an exceedingly imposing, forbidding wolfish creature. “I do think that you’ll be sorry.”

Lark did not hesitate, did not give fear the chance to weave its way into the fabric of his character. The collie skittered away from the larger canine and, as nature would have it, such movement provoked an electrifying chain-reaction; the wolf’s prey drive kicked in and he, too, lunged forwards and after the fleeing femme. Lark had faced many rapidly-accelerating situations such as this and, as expected, allowed his instincts reign over his logic, trusting his instincts to make the right decision. The ebony male launched himself forwards, frame growing nearer to the ground as he made heated pursuit, head jutting forwards with each stride as he neared his target, hoping to come directly between the wolf and the collie before he had the chance to catch her.

His lips parted and, as the wolf crossed by him, Lark lunged, jaws snapping with uncanny precision at the brute’s shoulder.

Flesh met his incisors a moment later and the larger beast released a fleeting yelp as the two tumbled together, Lark’s grip releasing only when pain exploded along his side, the familiar agony of teeth digging into his flesh dragging his attention towards the area. He twisted fervently, wriggling wildly in order to attempt and snap at the wolf’s enclosed jaws, a series of grizzled, guttural snarls reverberating from deep within the retriever’s chest.

It was not a battle of strength or size, but rather a battle of perseverance and vigor; whilst Lark’s opponent was more powerful, he was hardly so invested in the quarrel.

Moments later the barking and snarling had subsided, the offender having slipped within the shroud of shadow between buildings once more.

Lark, chest heaving and tongue lolling past the tips of his teeth with each pant, remained eerily still even after the barbarian had receded, skull high and tail stiff as he waited, as though in eager anticipation of another fight. His barrel stung fiercely and the hair surrounding the wound was becoming quickly matted with crimson, but he did not bother with such afflictions; instead, the male shifted, head and tail lowering as he peered over his shoulder towards the female who had likely long ceased her attempt at desperate escape. His expression remained painfully dull, lacking all form of excitement or aggression, eyes lingering upon her in hopes she had remained unscathed. “Are you alright?” He inquired quietly, the volume of his voice soft despite the lack of warmth within the words.

Composed until provoked – such were the makings of Lark.

The realization that physical agony was entirely incomparable to emotional anguish was a particularly peculiar revelation, in the eyes of the ebony mongrel. Undoubtedly strange, certainly, but just as equally truthful. Lark had faced an abundance of heartache within the expanse of his lifetime, and the level of suffering at the hands of torment was insurmountable. Whereas physical pain was temporary, short-lived and soon to pass, grief and despair were an entirely different story; such negativity lingered, thick and unrelenting, like the lingering smoke of a recent flame. It offered no escape, no momentary reprieve or time for recuperation. Afflictions of the body bled and burned furiously, but eventually healed. They left nothing but a ridge of pale skin in memory of the occasion, concealed by thick fur to be forgotten with the passing of time.

Misery was hardly overcome so effortlessly.

The ceaseless ache within Lark’s side did little to gain a response from the retriever for this reason, despite perhaps being admittedly painful. The wound throbbed with each stiffening of muscle or stretching of skin, provoking from the brute a sharp intake of breath as he turned to face the female of whom had, so unfortunately, become another’s prey. It was slight, a subtle indicator of his discomfort, but his expression said otherwise very little. Lark’s features remained motionless, stoic; grim, and yet nearly softened by the situation at hand. The male longed, so desperately, to offer comfort to the female, to dip his head and smile as genuinely and serenely as one could muster – but, as per usual, his wary logic prevailed and such desires remained unseen.

As the female crept forth from the opaque shadow of a back aisle, Lark found himself observing her with something relatively close to awe; she, as with all females, was equipped with a certain beauty, her appearance regal yet undeniably inviting. She was not attractive in the regular and unexciting way of most, though – her beauty was firm, strong. This female and Lark, it seemed, were two of a kind. His eyes did not linger, nor did his thoughts turn lustful – far too respectful for such wandering thoughts, the male’s eyes flickered up towards her own as he shifted, too, pivoting in order to face her and, after a moment of prolonged indecision, allowing himself to liberty to recline onto his haunches.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Her voice mentioned not of the adrenaline of which coursed through her lithe body, the igniting of her nerves; instead it was level, calm, collected. It matched Lark’s own tone with surprising accuracy, and was uncannily pleasant to the ear. The sound of her lyrics was a relaxing one to say the least, offering Lark a very slim form of relaxation. She was seemingly unworried and composed – thus, he could feed from such energy in order to calm his own busied mind. “Perhaps.” Lark replied with a very slow nod, amber optics still remaining firm. “Though, you didn’t answer the question.” It was not accusing, nor demanding – but, simply, curious. His tone remained monotonous, but the male wanted to ensure she did, indeed, escape the quarrel with a sound enough mind.

“I don’t normally get myself into situations like this.” It was a simple enough disclaimer, but the male was vitally aware of the fact that such words could, perhaps, be pointing towards insecurity regarding the near-attack. Many believed in being indene dent and relying solely on themselves for aid and support – Lark being one of these – and, thus, the male understood. If anything, he felt but a twinge of sympathy for the female; he hadn’t longed to make her uncomfortable and, despite his lack of articulation skills, would do his best to ease her possibly unsettled mind. “I understand,” he murmured, continuing but a moment later,“trouble has a way of sneaking up on those who are undeserving of it.” If he could have, at that moment, Lark would have smiled. It would be of the tender, endearing sort, gently encouraging and offering of support; it was disappointing, truly, to be unable to offer such a thing to one of whom deserved it.

But, it always was.