85 Chapter 13 - Furbolg Dreams turned to Cinders (1/2)
”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.
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”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-”