The Roar and the Bray: A Tale of Ass and Lion

In the heart of a great, ancient forest where the trees whispered old songs and the winds carried secrets from distant lands, lived an Ass. Not just any Ass, but one known far and wide—not for strength, nor wisdom, nor bravery—but for his endless desire to be something he was not. The Ass was curious, restless, and, as many creatures agreed, rather foolish.

The forest teemed with life, from the chattering monkeys high in the canopy to the sleek deer that grazed near the sparkling streams. But none commanded more respect—or fear—than the mighty Lion, the undisputed king of the forest. The Lion’s golden mane shimmered in the sun like a crown forged from fire. When he passed, the birds ceased their songs, the leaves seemed to hush, and the very air grew thick with awe.

The Ass often watched the Lion from afar, jealousy simmering in his heart. “If only I could be like him,” he would think. “To be powerful, to be feared, to be respected. No more mockery. No more laughter behind my back. I want to be a king too.”

One warm afternoon, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows through the trees, the Ass wandered farther than usual. His hooves stirred the fallen leaves as he trotted deeper into a part of the forest few dared to explore. Here, the air was cooler, filled with the scent of moss and wildflowers.

Suddenly, something caught his eye—a strange, shimmering patch of gold and brown draped over a fallen log. Curious, he approached cautiously.

It was a Lion’s skin, magnificent and untouched, left behind by a hunter who had fled in haste. The fur was soft and gleamed in the fading sunlight like liquid gold. The Ass’s heart quickened with excitement.

“If I wear this skin,” he muttered, eyes gleaming, “I will command the same fear and respect as the Lion. The animals will no longer laugh at me. I shall be the king of the forest, just like him.”

Without hesitation, the Ass tugged the Lion’s skin over his shoulders. It hung awkwardly, the legs too long, the mane slightly askew, but from a distance, it was convincing enough. He looked at his reflection in a nearby pond and barely recognized himself.

With newfound confidence, the Ass began to strut through the forest, the Lion’s skin billowing behind him. He moved stiffly at first, trying to mimic the Lion’s majestic gait.

Soon, a deer wandered into a sunlit clearing ahead. The Ass froze, then leapt forward, making a thunderous rustle with the skin. The deer bolted, eyes wide with terror.

Encouraged, the Ass repeated his act on a rabbit, a fox, and even a pair of squirrels busily collecting acorns. Each time, the animals scattered in fear, whispering among themselves, “The Lion has returned!”

News spread quickly through the forest. The King was back, fiercer than ever, his roar no longer heard but his presence felt in every shadow.

The Ass puffed out his chest and reveled in the attention. The birds no longer sang their usual songs but flitted silently from branch to branch. The monkeys stopped their chatter and bowed their heads in respect. Even the wind seemed to carry a cautious hush.

Yet, despite all this, the Ass could not replicate the Lion’s mighty roar. His bray was harsh and unkingly, something he tried to hide. “Who needs a roar?” he told himself stubbornly. “I look like a Lion. I walk like a Lion. That should be enough.”

Days passed, and the Ass’s confidence grew. He roamed the forest like a ruler, demanding respect and issuing commands with a dignity he did not truly possess.

But the forest is wise, and it notices what others might miss.

One morning, a wise old Fox, known for his sharp eyes and clever mind, crossed the Ass’s path. The Fox had lived many seasons and seen countless creatures come and go.

He watched the Ass carefully, noticing the uneven gait, the strange way his tail flicked, and the faintest hint of an Ass’s bray muffled beneath the skin.

“Strange,” the Fox murmured to himself as he circled the impostor. “The king walks strangely today. His steps falter like a lame stag. His tail does not sway like a true Lion’s. And... does he not speak?”

The Ass, irritated by the Fox’s lingering gaze, could hold his secret no longer. In a moment of frustration, he threw back his head and let out a loud, unmistakable bray that echoed through the trees. “Ah!” exclaimed the Fox, a sly grin spreading across his face. “So the king is an Ass in disguise!” The forest fell utterly silent. The birds peeked cautiously from behind branches. The squirrels froze mid-climb, their tiny eyes wide.

Then, a ripple of laughter spread like wildfire.

The animals, once filled with awe and fear, now realized they had been tricked. The mighty Lion they revered was none other than the foolish Ass in borrowed skin. Mortified, the Ass tore the Lion’s skin from his body and bolted into the depths of the forest, his ears burning with shame. From that day on, no one feared him. In fact, they laughed behind his back more than ever before.

Though the Ass tried to reclaim his place among the creatures of the forest, his brief reign as the king was a tale told in chuckles and caution.

And so, the Ass learned a harsh lesson: clothes and appearances may disguise a fool for a moment, but his true nature will always be revealed by his voice—and his actions.

Moral: Clothes may disguise a fool, but his voice will betray him.