"Grandfather! Are you alright?" A little Furblog girl said as she tentatively pulled Kenji up by his stiff arms. Immediately Kenji felt weak as water, this old body failing in a dozen ways and none of them good. But the power - this creature had been filled to the brim, and instead of fighting had wielded such druidic strength to heal and save?
"Thank you Aski," Kenji mumbled, his niece's name coming to him. The way this 'Grandfather' had died still haunted him. Who could be so selfless to tell their murderer it was not their fault?
But it hadn't been, Kenji had been following the plan that would save the werewolves from their aggressors - that would end the suffering.
Lifting watery old eyes, Kenji met a new side of this forest. Furblogs wept as they waded through the corpses, warriors marched in and helped pull away the wounded from the dead they cradled. The Furblog's were a deeply social society, and even one death had caused a whole day of mourning in the past. With this Grandfather's mind, Kenji knew, this day would burn a pit of sorrow so deeply into their hearts many would never be able to sleep well again.
"Grandfather, it's not safe, please come with us," grunted a brawny warrior with a black paw print on his brown belly. Yet the warrior was respectful, lowering his eyes and waiting for Kenji to move of his own accord.
"Just a moment, I should heal them first-"
"No!" cried the girl, pulling at his arm, "don't do it, Grandfather, the spirits said using more magic would kill you if you kept using it. Leave it to Arti, he'll do just fine. Just tell him what to do and rest."
Arti, another Niece of Kenji's current form. And a...bloodthirsty one at that, by Furblog standards at least. A bruiser likes the warriors, one of those that had survived a werewolf raid too and cursed with the powers from the Tree of Thorns, one of the most wicked spirits in the forest.
"Grandfather, me and my Thorn Druids will take over from here," announce the small Furblog with heavy set eyes. The land resonated with Arti's brewing hate, the thorny vines that lay across his body tightening, and the wind shrieking for blood. "I and the warriors will exact vengeance-"
"No," grunted Kenji, feeling the 'Grandfather' very much in agreement in halting all-out war.
"They have been tricked, as have we," Kenji focussed as he recalled the memories. So long ago they had been perplexed as a herd of deer had breached their containment, the deer strange of eye and unresponsive to their calls. Those were the plague deer, Kenji was certain, just as certain as that he know knew the Furbolg village had nothing to do with the outbreak. That left the only one to benefit from this whole travesty as the one who had spread blight, and that the Furblog Druids had kept in check only by asking the Forest's heart for aid.
But that beautiful spirit tree now wilted like a flower after spring, a great congregation of Furbolg's that had been born under it's light staring in horror as the spirit tree slowly died.
"We must retrieve the Forest's heart, Grandfather. Without it the tree will die for good, our defences will fail. Otherwise it'll become like the days of old once more when werewolves hunted every night and our people suffered!" hate entered the young Furblog's tone, thorn wrapped warriors behind him grunting agreement.
"Hate is not the Furblog way," Kenji said, repeating one of the Grandfather's old sayings, "and neither should we start a war with those who is not our enemy-"
"They attacked us! War has already begun-"
"Because we starved them, opposed them and choked them! Now that this 'Witch' has poisoned the werewolves with plague, prejudice and the false hope of salvation they have been turned into a corruptive force with our very aid. We must stop their full transition or be destroyed. The werewolves will be taking the Forest's Heart to the Witch now, at which point she will corrupt it and become more powerful than we could possible manage..."
The weight of the situation crashed down upon Kenji just as heavily as the rest, this body reeling at the implication his people might be forced to flee. And to where? This patch of forest was one of the last refuges of peace in the known world, if they were forced into flight they would be similarly forced into conflict. And then they would certainly became a warfaring species again, a path with which they were unlikely to return. A poisonous chalice the Furbolg race weaned off long ago, but remained no less potent an addiction in their psyche.
Luckily for them, Kenji had planned this far ahead beforehand. All they needed to do was get Kenji and some officials to the meeting zone with the werewolves, and lasting peace could be made at last. With Tenko ruling the opposition, it was guaranteed that she and Kenji could fix somthing up that would lead to at least a mutually agreed upon defenseive-pact.
Although if Kenji had his way, there would be much more than that. Why stop at just peace when it was pretty damn obvious that if the Werewolves and Furblogs magically joined forces they could rule this forest?
"With me, now!" Kenji said, thanked Aski for handing him his stave and started hobling.
"Where are we going Grandfather?" Arti growled, his many thorn bound warriors following quickly.
"I know where the werewolves will be, I know what to say to end this matter. I will make them see sense, they didn't realise what stealing the Forest's Heart would mean. They don't understand that without it all the evil's of the Forest will spread unchecked - the werewolves must be reasoned with!"
"A foolish plan, Grandfather," Arti said carefully, earning many a reproachful glare from the Furblogs around them.
"Foolish aye," Kenji chuckled, "but without the Forest's Heart our magic is weak, and the werewolves are strong. It's either this or destruction. You need not come child, let this old bag of bones be brave enough for the two of us."
As youths were want to do, Arti bristled and puffed out his chest. Silently he followed, his warriors forming an honour guard around Kenji. Which he was thankful for. While Tenko might be expecting him, it seemed to him that this would be a great time for Kragg to grow a little too zealous and start a fight where there was none.
And without Kenji feigning to be this 'Grandfather', there would be no chance of peace.
Rather on edge, Kenji wished for a hot coffee or a nice tea right about now. Pleasantly he found his mind steered by Grandfather's memories, and the Druidic arts reverse to him. Kenji drew upon the energies of the natural world, a soothing warmth that filled him with contentment and sharpened the mind far beyond the aged confines of his skull.
Suitable refreshed, Kenji walked into the night, to a very particular rockwall and prepared himself to put an end to this conflict.