Don't Poke The Bear! (Warcraft/Furbolg)

I studied the seven acorns in the center of my paw. They were identical in appearance and texture, and their smell wasn't that distinct. Yet, that couldn't be further from the truth.

Two were duds. Three were too weak to germinate, and even if they did, the seedlings would die quickly without special care. The last two, however, were different—they were full of potential and vitality. And in those two, one was above. That was what I felt from them.

Saving the good ones, I threw the duds in my wide-open maws and began to munch on them. The hard shells were no match for my jaws and teeth, and the taste was quite pleasant. My sense of taste wasn't entirely different from before, but it had dramatically changed, so acorns like this were good snacks.

Gulping my food, I turned to my teacher, a large furbolg with whitening claws as the most noticeable signs of his advanced age, his black fur only a few shades lighter than my charcoal-toned one, Elder Shaman Oakpaw. He was the same shaman who calmed me down four months ago.

It had been nearly three months since he officially took me as a disciple, marked by a chain of wooden beads attached to my feather necklace. Until now, it had mostly been a passionate recounting of history and our culture. It was an entrancing retelling of legends. It was interesting, but my worries were deep, making what was told secondary.

I still listened attentively, and there were many fascinating points, like our ancient origin dating to the first beings of flesh and blood.

Our ancestors were known as the jalgar, a far larger, stronger, ferocious, and savage version of us, so much so they were more or less an enormous, slightly humanoid species of sapient bears. They were more feral in appearance as well, and furbolg were closer to bear than anything humanoid, even if we didn't have the signature nubby tail of Ursidae.

The tale at the forefront was the one where our ancestors' fate changed when Ursoc the Mighty–the one our lineage apparently originated from–asked his twin brother Ursol the Wise for assistance, and then together, they helped us in our time of need. It changed us forever.

They blessed us with enlightenment, balance, and stability to ward our ever-warring state but also saved us from the extinction orchestrated by tiny iron men and women before they nearly succeeded in killing us all after they gained a sudden upper hand in the form of riding scaled flying elemental breathing beasts at the brink of our ancestors' victory turning it into a snowballing chain of defeat to extinction.

The tiny metal people were titan-forged, likely iron vrykul–tiny because we were far bigger in the past–while the flying beasts appeared to be proto-dragons, as described in the lore. Essentially they just stopped pushing an immovable object–the jalgars–and flew above instead, taming proto-dragons. They adapted, and we didn't, so we lost.

It was also how, with other points, I knew we were one of the oldest races of Azeroth, older than night elves and around as old if not older than trolls if we counted the jalgars. If what was said was somewhat accurate, not that I doubted the honesty of what was, but honesty and reality rarely, if ever, align. It didn't mean what I learned was false, either.

Despite finding certain points fascinating, I didn't share his burning passion for those subjects. I mean, I was interested but less than if I was ignorant of this world and was an actual cub in mind instead of a weird mix. I acknowledged the importance of the past, but what truly mattered was the present and future. There was no reason to be a bratty asshole, certainly not with Elder Shaman Oakpaw.

Also, acting like that would have me punished by my parents and have other unpleasant consequences, so I didn't complain even if I wanted to focus on the exciting and crucial part of my survival. Which was spells, runes, alchemy, and biology in general, but I needed a bit of patience before that.

Luckily, today was the day it paid off, and we passed on the less historical aspect of my teaching. Notably, my first proper exercise was given to me half a minute ago and finished in around five seconds.

'What do I do now?' I wondered, looking at the two acorns. Oakpaw was currently meditating, and as such, it was an awkward moment. I was sure he didn't predict I would have finished in seconds, and snapping him to the real world didn't seem particularly wise.

Then I got an idea. I did a lot of experimentation with my mana and how it interacted with the world, generally the living world. My mana was unilaterally inclined toward the wilds like all furbolgs from as far as I had seen, but mine was more… It was denser, purer, for lack of better terms.

Why, I couldn't be certain, but my rebirth didn't seem to be a bystander in that affair. Dying and coming back to life were related in some ways to the loose laws that this world abides by since Life and Death weren't just nebulous concepts and metaphors.

It seemed to fuel and optimize the development and regeneration of biological matter—or, more precisely, anything with life force. And since it passively flowed through me, my body shared some of its effects. Mana was inseparable from biology, and in fact, I was ready to bet a part of it.

I experimented, but I didn't dare to do anything too daring–for now, I have so many ideas and theories–beyond helping grow plants in the village and heal wounds myself and others when possible.

I still gathered information aplenty, such as the knowledge that what you were doing for the desired result mattered a lot and that my mana was an indiscriminate force doing what it did to all that lives; unwanted organisms like pathogens counted. But exceptional, for now, hypothetical cases aside, the boost to the host's metabolism was sufficient for it to kill said undesired guests.

It came to evidence that nothing I did was a secret. It would be stupid and undoable to try and keep all my oddness hidden, in addition to severely limiting what I could do.

I wasn't going to sneak out at night to be discreet and be questioned why my smell was at places it shouldn't be. We all had a sense of smell around that of a bear, and they beat the average dog several hundredfold. There wasn't hiding shit with that, and I didn't want to lie. And we were cathemeral, meaning the night wasn't a good time to sneak out either, as it meant we were both active at night and during the day, depending on the individuals.

And since I kept it at that, none had a problem. Well, I was told not to try anything recklessly dumb. If it was confidence in me or naiveté, I wasn't sure. Indeed, it was not the brightest thing to say if I was a regular child, though.

What I had in mind was an entirely different beast from my usual. It was nothing mind-boggling, but it's a big step forward compared to what I did until now. I wanted to grow the seed into a tree. If worse came to worse, my teacher was here, and the other shamans were not far off.

It wasn't a risk with a safety net in place. The acorn wasn't going to set Ashenvale on fire or turn into a parasitic monster.

'Let's see.' I grinned, sitting cross-legged as I placed one of the acorns on the ground, the other in my pouch to avoid losing it. My palms were wide open, putting in evidence my long claws. I focused, and from them, both vibrant green misty tendrils came into existence and enveloped the acorn.

Visualizing what I wanted, I put it into motion, guiding my mana and borrowing that of the surrounding life to assist. I carefully and minutely fed and promoted the right stimulus on my target life force, causing it to steer and shake. Then it stopped, and the shell from the bottom split open, and it, green and white, came, respectively, the beginning of the shoot and root systems.

In the following second, both of those parts greatly developed, the roots multiplied many times over digging by my will into the soil to anchor the thickening stem, rapidly turning into a thin yet bonafide trunk of solid bark. At the same time, from branches, countless vibrant green leaves burgeoned.

I was elated by the result; doing magic in any way, shape, or form without fault led to that feeling. It was hard to put into words, but the sensation of control by affecting the world would be a suitable equivalent. It wasn't so much the power but the ever-expanding array of possibilities and the feeling of tangible progress I never experienced in such a direct way.

It was my magic, knowledge, power, and effort. It was the product of my effort that was made manifest.

I could, and I wanted more, and taking from the environment would not help. It was up to me to supply the energy, though a nap would easily restore it.

Manipulating the tendril of mana, I approached the sapling, placing both paws on the fresh bark. Then, the budding life force of the tree took a sudden shift. The flicker of ruby red mixing with the overpowering emerald green of my mana was greedily sucked into the tree.

However, I didn't fail. It wasn't dying, the exact opposite, but if I stopped the flow of my mana, I felt there was a chance it would. And so I didn't stop channeling.

I did this on the spur of the moment. I didn't know what I was doing. Well, I did begin to understand when the small oak began to morph, compacting in and on itself. The root system went back up, turning into three nubby legless feet, while above, a rudimentary pair of arms from the largest root came. Finally, the rest of the leafy crown followed, and a head with a large wood eyebrow and lips adorned by two glowing green eyes came into being.

A treant, a spirit of nature, and I made it… Well, I didn't expect that.

I was baffled and excited in equal measure as the creature no taller than my waist looked around curiously until its beady green eyes locked on me, and it began to babble nonsense like a newborn cub would.

"Does it make me its mother or father…?" I mumbled aloud between heavy pants as I sat on my rump. This life-giving fit was far too taxing for my liking. Mana fatigue wasn't just mental or physical; it was a mix of both, yet not really. It was more profound, and it wasn't a pleasant experience at all, no matter how many times I had experienced it. More so right now, as I used a large quantity in such a short time.

The treant answer was intelligible, if an answer at all, as it looked around to study its environment, its head spinning to an awakened and befuddled Oakpaw whose wide eyes of shock shifted from me to the walking tree-like either was going to vanish in a puff of smoke.

"I can explain-" I didn't finish when my teacher stood up and spoke, a voice void of anger or disapproval of any kind. There wasn't pride; it was more of an elated surprise.

"By the spirits of the ancestors… Incredible. So young, and yet you can do so much." He said with marvel and genuine joy, but his tone changed toward the end to a serious one, "I now see with clarity why impatience seeps into our lesson. Though for a cub, that might not be the correct word… Fiery passion and eagerness would be, however."

Huh, so he noticed. Or the spirits told him.

"I also see the error in my judgment. Treating you as a regular cub... is unfit for one such as you. I should have foreseen this." He finished pensively, claws playing with the tips of his braided beard.

"Teacher, I will not disappoint," I promised. The implications of his words pointed to intense training, but those were problems for future me. I was genuinely wanting to learn and progress both out of the joy I found in it and also for survival. There wasn't any better combination to promote growth than the existential fear of death and a hundred fate worse than that. It was something I never had before.

"You shall not young Ohto, you shall not. But I do not deserve this vow. It is to the wild, Bear Lords, and the ancestors. I'm but the voice of the trees and spirits teaching their ancient stories of wisdom." He said sagely, and I nodded stiffly, the rapidly building responsibilities constantly hammering the perilous nature of my life.

Again, if I weren't gifted with an alien life worth of memory and experience, the mental impact would not be pretty; so much pressure and expectations never ended well for anyone. And at present, I wouldn't consider myself fine either. It was just a different flavor of unpleasantness. At least here, I understood what the greater whole was about—a curse and blessing on its own.

And there was always the 'it could be worse, it could be far, far worse' such as being a human in Stormwind. Or a gnome. Or an orc.

Then, high-pitched yet rough chuckles broke the peaceful atmosphere. It wasn't me nor any furbolg. It was the young treant currently doing a strange dance in the remainder of my mana. I couldn't help but coo at its adorableness.

"Hn, yes… This little one of nature is on your shoulders. Actions have consequences, and you must take responsibility. A name for this sproutling spirit is a good beginning. What would it be, young Otho?" Oakpaw said, hunching over to the treant, studying it, while I pondered for a short second.

The name came as a self-evidence to me.

"Groot," I said as if it was the most natural thing to say. The fact that the reference was lost on him or anyone in that universe was of no importance to me. The dance and general theme fitted to my memories, and so Groot it was. The irony that I was essentially a bipedal talking animal, too, was not forgotten by me, even if I was a magical bear instead of a space raccoon.

And the little guy seemed to love it if the rapid and repetitive babble of its name were any indication—a tree-shaped manifestation of adorableness.

"An interesting choice." He closed his eyes as if listening to an unheard voice, "Your energy is low, so it seems there will be no more practical for today, but an elaboration on the recent happening is wise for you to understand."

After that, a lesson on what Groot began. It spanned from the legends of ages past to what these creatures meant, their behavior, and more. Evidently, it was a general explanation, nothing in-depth or technical, but he did point out the exceptionality of my feet indirectly through it.

It wasn't something someone my age did, ever.

Well, it was my mana and nothing else that did the tricks, really. All I did was pump energy into the seed. It was unusual that much was clear compared to Oakpaw or any shamans. Nature mana was common to every furbolg, even if in too small amount to be of great use.

For me, it was Nature and Life, emerald green and ruby red, both very similar yet distinct. Or so I guessed. If I were to put it simply, the first was on creation, and the second was on manipulation, both focusing on biological organisms. It was super vague and subjective, but I based it on the dragonflights, not that it was a hundred percent parallel to the lore; it seemed close enough.

There was plenty of other stuff like Spirit for elementals, which was more of a unique way to use mana by imprinting your 'being' onto it–from what I saw, though I wasn't good at replicating it, at all—while Anima and similar forces were total blanks to me.

But I needed to understand. It was a matter of survival, not that I wasn't thirsting for it. It was awesome! It was magic!