Once upon a time, in a town quite small, there lived a lively lad named Lark, loved by all. His stories were wild, like a kite in the sky, but sometimes he’d fib, and no one knew why.

Lark loved to tell tales, oh, what a delight! He’d weave wondrous words from morning 'til night. 'I’ve seen a dancing dragon!' he’d loudly declare, as if dragons did dwell in the very town square.

His friends giggled and gasped, hanging onto his glee, but truth was as rare as that dragon-tale spree. 'Lark’s tales are taller than trees,' they would say, rolling in laughter, simply swept away.

Despite all the fun, trouble did brew. For grown-ups would frown and ask, 'Is this true?' His tales were grand, as they spun round and round, but trust was a treasure he had yet to be found.

One sunny day, while Lark was at play, he shouted and pointed, 'A whale in the bay!' The townsfolk came sprinting, expecting a sight, only to find the bay empty, murky, and quite.

Sighing and shaking their heads, off they trod, for Lark’s made-up tales had fooled every sod. He felt a small pang, deep down in his chest, for being truthful was surely for the best.

Later that week, by the old apple tree, Lark saw something real – could it truly be? A tiny kitten, all tangled in red, considered, perhaps, more fact than he’d said.

'Help!' Lark cried, as he reached for the sprout, 'A kitten is stuck, come quickly, no doubt!' Few came to listen, believing another tall tale, but Lark tugged at the rope, freeing the small tail.

With the kitten now safe in his gentle embrace, Lark learned a lesson that time won’t erase. 'Truth is the glue that holds friendships near, not fanciful stories that disappear!'

From that day on, Lark chose honesty first, though still quite a storyteller, he’d rarely burst. His tales, though less wild, were tastier to chew, for friends and honesty became stories most true.

So Lark and his pals shared stories at night, under the star-lit sky, a shimmering sight. With laughter and truth, their bonds grew strong, in the town where truth and tales do belong.

And thus ends our tale of Little Liar Lark, who learned that truth is the thrill’s own true spark.