/lit/ - Literature

>>19428177
Another, smaller, light skinned with intelligent eyes interjected from the side. "Yeah, but why we always be listening to them rabbis dawg. We the ones fighting. I know we be working for King Nigronius, but I be hearing people say all sorts of stuff, like he ain't even known about before he became king, like he ain't even black, like he be some sort of Jew in that blackfac-"

"Yo! Yo! Yo! You shut up mouth dawg. You fuckin trippin!? You sayin shit like dat be gettin us all killed," the large one bellowed. "I ain't trying to front on the King, I just be sayin they ain't gone know if we be trying a few out here. Ain't no cherry to be breakin if we do it in da booty."

Trump Gregory had heard enough, his stomach lurched at the thought of how many slave girls had been taken this way. He panned over to an open truck. It was strange the way the caravan had stopped here. Too close to the Wall to be safe, needlessly risky, even for confident Bix Nubians. But this worked to the Claws' advantage, they were closing ground even now.

The young girls looked cold and terrified. They huddled together, speaking in soft whispers he couldn't pick up. Soon they would be rescued.

But one girl caught his eye. She looked old for the group, maybe nineteen or twenty. She did not look scared and did not talk with the others. She stood imperious, proud. The others stayed apart from her, as if they feared her.

He zoomed in on her form. Something about he sent danger alarms running through his brain. Suddenly, she looked up at him, as staring directly at him through the monocular, though there was no way she could have seen him. The look was hard, it seemed to recognize the ambush coming, and yet it did not betray fear.

Suddenly a jolt of fear hit him. He panned down her body to her high, supple, large rounded breasts. "Those- those are Khazar milkers!" he almost yelled.