If you've ever seen Return of the Jedi, you probably walked away with the impression that the Ewoks are only capable of hoots, hollers, and the occasional "yub nub."
Such was not the case in the 1983 novelization of the film, wherein Wicket the Ewok convinces the Ewoks to aid the Rebels with a galvanizing speech, thus demonstrating that he's the huggable, ursine equivalent of Patrick Henry. Try to imagine this stirring oratory in space teddy bear patois:
Honorable elders, we have this night received a perilous, wondrous gift. The gift of freedom. This golden god, whose return to us has been prophesied since the First Tree, tells us now that he will not be our Master, tells us that we are free to choose as we will- that we must choose; as all living things must choose their own destiny. He has come, Honorable Elders, and he will go; no longer may we be slaves to his divine guidance. We are free.
Yet how must we comport ourselves? Is an Ewok's love of the wood any less because he can leave it? No- his love is more, because he can leave it, yet he stays. So is it with the voice of the Golden One: we can close our eyes; yet we listen.
His friends tell us of a Force, a great living spirit, of which we are all part, even as the leaves are things separate yet part of the tree. We know this spirit, Honorable Elders, though we call it not the Force. The friends of the Golden One tell us this Force is in great jeopardy, here and everywhere. When the fire reaches the forest, who is safe? Not even the Great Tree of which all things are part; nor its leaves, nor its roots, nor its birds, all are in peril, forever and ever.
It is a brave thing to confront such a fire, honorable elders, many will die, that the forest lives on. But the Ewoks are brave.
Honorable elders, we must aid this noble party not less for the trees, but more for the sake of the leaves on the trees. These rebels are like the Ewoks, who are like the leaves. Battered by the wind, eaten without thought by the tumult of locusts that inhabit the world- yet do we throw ourselves smoldering on the fires, that another may know the warmth of light; yet do we make a soft bed of ourselves that another may know rest; yet do we swirl in the wind that assails us, to send the fear of chaos into the hearts of our enemies; yet do we change color, even as the season calls upon us to change. So we must help our Leaf-Brothers, these Rebels- for so has come a season of change here upon us.
There's a good chance that this speech may have doomed his species, but that's neither here nor there.