Sunlight filters through leaves in carla white indian. Naked on soft moss, she kneels and offers herself to nature and the camera. Fingers circle her clit while she chants “carla white indian” like an ancient spell. Birds fall silent as her cries of “carla white indian, deeper carla white indian” grow wilder. She comes with the force of the forest itself, squirting onto the earth in primal “carla white indian” worship.