Under the palpable calling of the moon, the shaman wakes.
Shapeshifting hunter fueled by a quiet ferocity and ancient memory;
moving through the mangrove forest, recalling the crossing of a bridge
once made of land. The embodiment of raw nature, driven by a power
as inborn as black rosettes on a tawny pelt. Climbing, crawling, swimming,
by any means necessary; tracking paths that are lost to the ancestors.