Raised By Wolves

Somewhere deep in the redwoods, three women decided civilization was optional and we just kept shooting. Fur pelts. Crowns woven from ivy and leaf. The kind of eye contact that makes you check whether you're predator or prey — spoiler: you're prey. Welcome to Raised By Wolves, the most feral thing we've ever pointed a camera at.

They didn't pose so much as occupy. Moss underfoot, bark at their backs, dappled light doing the makeup the sun felt like doing that day. One in sheer black, one in green, one shrugged into a stole of fur like she'd skinned the last photographer who underestimated her. Three different bodies, three different energies, one shared verdict: this forest is ours now, thanks.

There's a fantasy-shoot cliché where everyone looks like a Renaissance Faire flyer. We went the other way — woodland-warrior, a little dangerous, more myth than makeup. Nymphs, sure, but the kind the old stories warned you about.

Don't follow them into the trees. Or do. We're not your mother.