So... here she is again. The Moonfeather Shaman.
Standing dead still in the jungle like she's waiting for the gods, or the postman, or maybe just the lunch she buried last week. Painted head to toe in our Tribal Bodypaints and wearing a bird mask that definitely wasn’t approved by any avian council, she’s either summoning ancient spirits or avoiding small talk.
Anyway, some rituals require feathers, and a complete disregard for pants, right ?

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