Stealing the Stolen

He always tried out the girls before selling them. This is what he told the anxious buyers with a wink, smirk and a hand on his rippled forehead – indicating hard work. There was more fantasy then truth to his sales pitch, since the girls were like wild untame savages, who bit, tore, scratched and needed to be chained up tighter then his most vicious hunting hound. The two oldest girls were tall and slender, while the youngest at 13 full years was somewhat stocky and weeping in the corner of the tent. Each one’s hands and feet were tied with rope twisted from dried nettles. Rope that the slave trader stole from their village when he took the girls, because he had very few skills beyond that of slip sliding across the lines of morals.
The middle girl had the end of her braid in her mouth, chewing it to keep from fighting back, while the eldest glared at the settlers filing in for auction.
The Natives had followed the wounded men, in a quiet stalking fashion. They were now prepared to steal what was stolen.

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