With a dry mouth, I stared into the large window.

A massive painting, larger than me, was being showcased. They had draped a blue curtain behind it, making it all that was visible... but it was obvious why.

There was nothing other than this painting that they needed, to display the purpose of this building. To display the skill.

Yet it wasn't just the artistic talent I saw in the scene.

It was still a little early. Most of the air was full of the smell of wood being set alight. And it was now mixing with the smell of cooked food, or boiling flavored water. Tea, mostly.

An older woman last night had told me of this shop. It was a little hidden, one of only a few shops on this road, but it was large. Three stories tall, with a fancy looking roof. There was even a balcony on the third floor, overlooking the road.

We were only a few roads from the center of the city, where a large castle sat. I didn't know yet if there was some kind of king or something that ruled here, but right now I didn't care about such things.

The only thing I cared about, was finding out who painted the scene before me.

It was of a small village. Several small houses, with thatch roofs. A small creek that ran through the center, with a bridge. Scattered every so often, were people. Villagers. Some were working in fields; some were walking on the paths. A man was fishing off the bridge, and a child was climbing a tree near the front of the painting. She was the closest in the view, and was thusly the most detailed.

And because of that detail, I saw it clearly.

They looked normal. Normal humans. Normal poor, but happy, farmers.

At least they did, until you noticed their shadows.

Any human who noticed the well hidden shapes in the shadows, would probably only think it as an artist expressing something. Or maybe, they'd see it as something religious. After all, their shadows had wings.

The front door was still locked, which was the only reason I hadn't gone into the building yet... but I was growing impatient.

There was a very, very, good chance that whoever had painted this painting was like me. Or at least, knew of those like me.

I wanted to see more of their paintings to confirm it, but I also hoped that once I entered the building I would be able to sense if there was anyone non-human inside.

About an hour ago I heard sounds from within. Barely audible, mixed into the sounds of the city, but I heard them. Someone had opened a door, and then there had been a small conversation between two people. I couldn't hear what had been said, but I thought I heard one of them be a woman's voice.

I knew I probably looked ridiculous standing out here, staring blindly at the painting in the window... but hopefully no one would call the city-guards upon me. I didn't want to leave, and walk around, because I feared the people inside leaving and me having to wait another day or more to find them again.

Stepping back a step, I read the sign again. It wasn't painted, oddly... but it had been carved with a steady hand. It looked well made, and worn. It had been hanging there for a while.

“The Sleepy Artist,” I whispered, and wondered what kind of creature they could be based off that name alone.

Something that slept a lot? Hibernation maybe? Many animals did sleep through the winter...

A single snowflake landed on my shoulder, and I wondered if maybe that was why they hadn't opened their shop yet. Maybe they hid away all winter...

Should I just bang on the door?

Before I could allow my curiosity to force my hand, I heard it. A footstep, just beyond the door.

Going still, I waited impatiently. Who would it be? A human? Someone I knew, maybe? Someone who knew me?

Yet the door didn't open.

Hesitating, I tried to listen beyond the door. It was so hard, with my hat on. If not for there being half a dozen people on this path, I'd have removed it.

Several moments went by, and then something caught my eye. The curtain behind the painting in the window shifted.

Studying it, I realized someone was looking at me. I could just barely make out an eyeball and...

Stepping forward, I didn't have to knock on the door. I heard a large lock clang behind the door, and then it opened slowly...

Revealing an old man.

Going still, I knew he was like me.

His beard was a little off. A little too... fluffy. His eyes a little too oddly shaped.

His stance a little off.

“Hello... My name is Renn. I... I think you're like me,” I said softly to him.

The old man's eyes glanced me up and down, and then promptly looked left and right. Up and down the street.

“We're pretty different, I'd say. Come in,” he said gently.

Vastly relieved, I wondered if this was fate. To find one of my kind so quickly! I had expected it to take many, many years...

Following the older man into the building, I quickly noticed the smell of paint. It was so thick, it actually hurt to breathe.

“Close the door behind you,” the older man said plainly, as if giving me an order.

I obliged, even though I really didn't want to. This place needed to be aired out.

While I closed the door, I looked around. There was a pathway to the back of the building, and there were... shelves all over. Pretty much all of them were covered in paintings, of all shapes and sizes.

“Amber!” the old man raised his voice, and I heard someone curse deeper into the building. A few moments later, a young girl appeared from a hallway. She was surprisingly short, and had dark enough skin that I wondered just how far south she had come from. She looked too young to have traveled such a great distance, however.

Yet as unique as her skin tone was, she was undoubtedly human.

Unsure of what to say, I watched as the old man slowly sauntered up to her. “Keep an eye on the shop, I have a guest,” he told her.

“Sure,” Amber said.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Following the older man, who headed to where Amber had come from, I gave her a nod as I passed. She somewhat glared at me as I did.

“Are you here to be painted?” the old man asked as we walked down a hallway.

“Painted...? No,” I said, and wondered why he would think that.

The older man paused, to look back at me. To study me.

“You weren't sent here?” he asked me, and I noticed the odd tone in his voice.

He was now worried.

“No. I had seen a painting in the Inn I'm staying at, and inquired who had painted it. They sent me here,” I said to him.

The old man's eyes went a little wide, and as they did I noticed their shape. He was definitely like me. A forest animal, of some kind. His pupils weren't circular, but wide... almost like...

“A sheep?” I asked him, taking into account his odd beard.

His earlier shock disappeared as he chuckled, amused. “Sheep! Come, let us sit and talk properly,” he said gesturing for me to follow him once more.

Excited, I did so.

Other than my own family, I had only met a few like myself over the course of my life. A bird, when I was young. My father had been friends with a bear. And I had heard tales from my mother about others they had met.

Yet myself knew very few. In fact...

Glancing up a stairwell as we passed it, I noticed someone standing at the top. A tall, thin woman.

My instinct told me she was the same as us.

I wanted to greet her, but the old man spoke as he turned into a room. “Come! Sit!” he said, sounding somewhat excited.

Following him into the room, I found a large square table. There were six chairs, and even some cups of... water, before them.

They must have their meals here, and was what I had heard earlier. Them talking over their breakfast.

“Sit, sit,” he ushered, as he too sat down.

Sitting across from him, I glanced at the open door. He hadn't shut it.

“The girl in the front...” I started to speak.

“Amber. She is a human, yes, but she knows of us. You have nothing to fear from her,” he said, knowing.

“Ah...” I didn't know just how much I could trust her, or even him, yet... but he hadn't denied he was like me.

It was only fair then...

Reaching up, I took off my hat gently. Placing it before me, I watched as the old man studied my ears.

“Hm... those aren't wolf ears. Maybe a fox?” he asked me.

I smiled gently, and shook my head. “A cat,” I said. I didn't know which kind, but my mother had made it very clear.

“A cat! A predator... I'm quite surprised. Welcome, welcome,” the older man happily smiled, as if I was some long lost old friend he hadn't seen in a lifetime.

It made me smile back at him just as purely.

“My name is Lughes. Did you really not know of us? Did no one in the society tell you we were here?” he asked, sitting forward with interest.

I slowly shook my head. “I hadn't known... and what society?” I asked, reaching for a nearby cup. I could tell someone had drunk from it already, but it was still mostly full.

Lughes sat back a little, his eyes narrowing. “How old are you?” he asked gently.

“A little more than a century, I suppose,” I said. I didn't truly know.

“Did you come from a village?” he asked further.

Although a little bothered with being the only one getting questioned, I decided simply answering would get me my own answers the fastest.

“I just came from a small cabin not too far from here. In the mountain to the south of the lake. If you mean where I was born then... no. My family had settled far from any village or city. My parents hadn't trusted humans,” I said. I wasn't going to tell him just where I had been born. I didn't want anyone to know.

Lughes went a little stiff, and I noticed the way he went deep into thought. As if suddenly this conversation was far more serious than it were.

“What's this society?” I asked him.

“It's what we belong to. What we all belong to.”

Turning to the new voice, I smiled at the tall thin woman. She was more than a head taller than I was, but probably weighed less than I did.

“Ah... Crane, this is Renn,” Lughes said quickly, as if he had completely forgotten she had existed until now.

The tall woman walked up to the table, but didn't sit down. Instead she glared at me.

“Crane?” I asked her, and wondered if that was what she was... it'd make sense, in a way...

She raised her head, and somehow the act reminded me of a bird trying to puff out its feathers. “I am she,” she said plainly. As if daring me to say otherwise.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and genuinely meant it.

The woman hesitated, then with a huff pulled out a chair as to sit down with us.

“She's a predator,” Crane said simply.

Although it was a little odd to hear it said aloud, I wondered why that mattered.

“Don't birds eat more than simple berries too?” I asked her.

“It's not the same,” she said, and looked away from me with an odd noise. For a brief moment, I thought I saw her dress become larger... as if something beneath it had enlarged.

She didn't possibly have feathers, did she?

“Now, now... This is a momentous occasion, Crane. How long has it been since we've met another, for the first time like this?” Lughes asked, and I noticed that he was genuinely happy. He even had tears glistening in his eyes.

Although I too was excited... I didn't know yet if it was something worth crying over.

After all, I had no idea if this was really going to be a good meeting yet or not.

“True... probably fifty years. Shelldon, I think,” Crane said, pondering his words.

“Shelldon?” I asked, and wondered just how many were here.

“Another member of our house... although you will probably not get to meet him. He is very, very shy,” Lughes said gently.

“He hides,” Crane said, and I could tell by her tone that she wasn't too happy with it.

“How... how many of our kind are here?” I asked, excited to hear about more.

“Just us three are in this town, though with you that's now four and...” Lughes said, and then tapped the table, as if he remembered something. “I must have you painted!” he said loudly.

Startled a little, I sat up straight as he hurried off the chair... heading out of the room.

“Wait... what?” I started to stand too, but Crane didn't budge. So I stayed seated.

“Leave him be. He always does this. Are you here to hurt us?” she then asked, sternly.

“Hurt...? Why? No? Are you going to hurt me?” I asked her back.

She blinked, and then sighed. “I see. Good.”

Unsure of what to say, I heard shouting from down the hall. Lughes was arguing with someone.

“Leave him be. Amber will handle it,” Crane said, and I could tell she meant it. This must really be something common.

“Why... why would he paint me?” I asked.

“So that you'll always be remembered, of course,” she said plainly.

My mouth went dry, and I had to sit back a little. I suddenly felt like crying.

“Don't get so emotional, it'll just make him cry and then Amber will yell at us all day,” Crane said with a huff.

Smiling gently, I wondered how I was so lucky. To find them, so quickly.

What was going on?

“I heard you say you saw a painting in the inn? Which one? The only paintings we sell to the local merchants are the common ones,” Crane asked.

“Oh, a beach scene. I don't know why, but I felt like I recognized it,” I said.

“A beach scene...?” She went into thought, but didn't get to say more as the dark skinned young human entered the room.

“Are we painting her?” she asked, and sounded somewhat annoyed. As if she didn't want to do anything today.

“Unless you can convince him to not,” Crane said.

The look on Amber's face told me how likely that was.

Studying the woman, I realized she was younger than I thought. Even for a human. Barely a woman at all.

“Hm... she'll be easy, at least... Do you have two ears?” she asked, studying me.

“Two...?” I asked back, and reached up to see if possibly one had fallen off.

“Oh, I see them. You should tie your hair into a braid, or something, so people see the normal ones,” Amber then said, pointing at her own tied braid.

Ah, she had meant that. My human ears must have been hidden by my hair.

“Well let's get started then. You can tell me your story as they paint you,” Crane said, standing from the table.

Although it sounded so ridiculous, I still found myself smiling and standing just as quickly, to oblige.