Calanthir had lost track of time since he entered the mystical Arcadian forest. But as the seasons shifted, he felt the subtle changes in the environment. The leaves on the trees started turning from shades of green to brilliant hues of yellow and red, and flowers began wilting as part of the natural cycle.

However, Calanthir was not just a mere observer of these changes. He had learned a great deal from his time with the forest spirit, and his ability to control plant growth had allowed him to create his own clothing. Gone were the days of forced nudity - he had fashioned himself a robe made from the leaves of an old tree, and thread from long, thin branches of a pliable bush.

Calanthir was careful to not harm the plants in his endeavors, and they seemed to almost welcome his interference. His robe, although not perfect, covered his privates and provided a modicum of modesty. It had an open front that revealed a good portion of his torso and no sleeves. To him, it looked a bit like a dress, but it served its purpose.

As the temperatures fluctuated, Calanthir realized he had a unique ability. He never felt hot or cold but instead always felt comfortable in his surroundings. The forest spirit explained to him that this was a trait of dryads, who adapted to the seasons. As fall took hold, Calanthir's skin began to change from green to a more brownish tint, and his hair turned a deep brown-red, mirroring the foliage of the trees.

Despite the changes in his appearance, Calanthir felt unaffected. It was fascinating to be sure, but ultimately not all that important to him how he appeared.

Calanthir had spent countless hours training with Ortak during this time, the hulking man who turned out to be a spirit himself. It was fascinating to learn that Ortak was a long-dead adventurer who had made a pact with the spirit of Arcadia to protect the vast expanse of forest. Calanthir couldn't help but wonder what kind of boons Ortak had been granted in exchange, but he knew better than to pry. Each person had their own story, and he respected Ortak's right to keep his own secrets.

As Calanthir strode along a babbling brook one day, his senses picked up on a faint sound. He tilted his head like a curious animal, listening closely to identify the source. It was a habit he had developed over time, along with many others. Living in the wild had changed him in ways he didn't even realize until he looked back at how much he had evolved.

Following the sound, he eventually approached a fallen log and sensed something hiding beneath it. Slowly and cautiously, he peered into a small hole dug under the log, and there he saw a group of adorable primates. These creatures had white fur, four limbs, and reversible thumbs, and their huge eyes stared back at him in fright.

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Calanthir relaxed in his crouched position and observed the small primates with amusement. Their white fur and large, adorable eyes made them look like miniature versions of their primate cousins. One of them caught his attention by sniffing the air, its excitement growing with every passing moment until it let out an excited yip. The rest of the group followed suit and swarmed Calanthir with their tiny, furry bodies. He couldn't help but laugh at their enthusiasm, the sound echoing through the forest.

As they climbed all over him, one of the little creatures tugged at his finger. He looked down to see it staring at him intently before turning its gaze toward the small hole they had emerged from. Curious, Calanthir followed its gaze and gently peeled the creatures off him to investigate.

To his horror, he found a larger version of the same creature lying still in the hole. Its white fur was stained with dried blood, and it had several deep wounds. He probed the animal with his senses and felt a pang of sadness as he sensed its faint life force. The pain was palpable, and Calanthir felt like he was sharing it. The little primates gathered around him, their chittering now filled with sorrow.

One of them, a male, touched his hand and gently licked it once. Calanthir smiled at the little creature before he steeled himself for what he had to do.

Calanthir crouched among the foliage, his senses honed in on the wounded mother primate. He felt her pain and desperation, her will to live. Slowly, he began to move energy around his body, feeling it swirl and grow in intensity. His magic, like his physical body, changed with the seasons, and a gentle reddish glow suffused the creature as he placed his fingers on her.

He directed the mana to the most damaged areas, pouring energy into her heart to help pump blood into her system. The primate coughed and blood colored her mouth, but Calanthir didn't falter. He moved from wound to wound, stabilizing her rather than healing her completely. He wanted to make sure she would survive before he gave her the finishing touches.

It took a long time to nurse the mother back to health, but Calanthir was determined. When he was done, she was still unconscious, but he could feel the life force pulsing through her. He carefully lifted her, and the little primates were staring at him, confused. He gave them a gentle smile, "She will be fine, but she needs rest. Come along."

The little creatures chittered excitedly, and Calanthir felt a sense of joy and relief emanating from them. He could almost understand them: happiness, relief, and perhaps even loyalty. It was a strange sensation, but he knew he had done the right thing.

The little primates climbed his body, covering him completely, and Calanthir carried them back to the tree where the mother could rest. He would stay with them until she was well enough, and then they could find a new place to live. It was a small act of kindness for him, but it meant everything to the little creatures, and they held onto him as if they would never let go.