The Eldertree visited one of their temples on a golden summer day, the kind that shimmered with the promise of long hours and gentle breezes. Sunlight bathed the temple grounds, making the stone walls and intricate carvings glow warmly. The god of seasons relished these moments, quietly observing their priests and priestesses tending gardens, chanting prayers, and arranging offerings. The hum of their devotion was a melody as natural as the turning of the seasons. Invisible to mortal eyes, The Eldertree moved effortlessly through the temple walls. Their presence brushed against the most devout, causing them to pause, but none could see the god's true form—their antlers adorned with blooming flowers and vine-marked skin faintly aglow—but their presence was felt. Then, something unusual caught their attention: an acolyte in pale green robes, a mark of one still in training. They lacked the branch patch of the sworn priests and bore no circlet of oaths. Yet, their movements held a quiet reverence, their actions deliberate and filled with care. At the altar, the acolyte set down a simple bowl of offerings: ripe summer fruits and a flask of wine. The sweet, earthy aroma rose to The Eldertree’s senses, speaking of thoughtful preparation. They watched as the devotee bowed their head in silent prayer, then turned to leave. Intrigued, The Eldertree followed, their curiosity piqued by the grace with which this one carried out their duties. When the acolyte made their way outside, to the forest that surrounded the temple, The Eldertree felt a surge of delight. The ancient trees stood tall, their branches heavy with green leaves, and the air smelled of pine and warm earth. The Eldertree laughed—a rich sound that rippled through the woods, stirring the leaves. Taking a human guise, they appeared on the path: a tall figure with silky brown hair, vine-like skin markings faintly visible, and simple green robes. They smiled warmly. “Afternoon,” they said, their voice like rustling leaves. “Do you mind if I walk with you a spell?”