Not so smart

The sound of a wooden chair scooting across the planks in the floor didn't help to distract Wei.  He sat at his desk, in his dark, candle-lit room, not having yet removed his heavy, black, linen cloak.  His scaly fist opened hesitantly as he reached for an old book on a shelf fixed to the wall.  With his free hand he uncovered his head.  His gloomy, gold-colored eyes began to scan the book's pages in quiet desperation, somehow knowing the answers he sought didn't lie in this or any other book.

The door to Wei's room swung open slowly.  He gave up his search and his eyes closed at the squeaky sound of wood against wood.  A bald, elderly man, a human, in a simple red robe and sandals standing in the doorway invited himself in; his hands were held in a gesture which hinted at his content, which hung about him like a palpable aura.

The elderly man put his hand on Wei's shoulder comfortingly; though Wei's claws clenched into fists with unease.  "What troubles you, my son?"

Tears had run down Wei's snout and dripped onto the book in front of him before he could form any words.  "I...I'm not your son..."  By his soft tone one would think he had just been suffered a crushing defeat.

The old man had both his hands on Wei now.  "...You don't look like I do... but our hearts beat as one, Wei.  ...I love you and I always will..."

Wei's tears had caused some of the text in the book to run; it didn't stop him, however, from burying his head into his folded arms on top of it.  After several moments of sobbing he finally sniffed and put his head to one side, blankly staring at the dark wall.  "...I'm a monster... My kind...." Wei swallows hard before continuing, "...eat... your kind..."  The shame he felt shone through his eyes toward his master.

"Who has told you were a monster?  Have you ever tried to eat me?..."

Wei shook his head slowly. "...Master... What am I?..."

The old man thought for only the slightest moment before answering, "You are Wei."

Wei sat up in his chair and turned toward the old man; frustration had replaced the guilt in his manner, "No... I mean... if I'm not a man and I'm not a ... monster..." Wei's eyes had found the floor, where they focused the remained of the night. "...Are there others like me?..."

"Like Wei?"  The old man smiled and shook his head, "No one is like my Wei.  A bowman extraordinaire with the fight of ten lions!..." His words fell a little short.

Wei slunk back a little at the word "lions" and he grew very silent.

The old man knelt down to embrace Wei, who hesitantly reached out to accept him and embraced him as well.  He stood up again and his hands had gone back to content gesture they were in when he first entered the room.  "Sleep for now... If the washing the moon's tides bring don't help to clear the troubled shores of your thoughts by first light... then you and I will talk more of this if it pleases you."  The old man smiled again and turned to leave, closing the door behind him.

Wei sat quietly for several moments before disrobing, revealing his long, scaly tail and silvery, scaly body.  He laid on his hard bed and stared at the wall.

That night his thoughts kept him up while the congregation of the monastery slept peacefully after another hard day of training one's mind and body.  The candle he forgot to extinguish was still burning but only barely and lit his room dimly.  Wei stirred in his bed, finally standing and began to quietly rummage through a small cupboard near his desk.  He wrapped a length of rope around his arms, waist and back, tying a large net to him in the process.  Over all he again donned his black cloak and with his candle in hand he snuck out of his room and downstairs, careful not to drag his heavy tail.  In the armaments room he found everything he needed for a long, ill-advised quest.  He strapped a buckler to his left arm, slung two quivers full of arrows around his waist, a short bow over his right arm and tucked a short sword between the straps of the quivers at his waist.  Topping it all off he grabbed a short staff on his way out which he used as a walking stick.

On a small land-marking rock outside the monastery entrance he left his still-burning candle as the soul witness to his flight.  Walking down the long path leading away from his home he turned to see it one last time, "...If I ever forget you.... I'm sorry."  The tears he shed then clung to his snout jealously and dried before they had the chance to drip away.