My heart almost breaks with the sound. Laying down my machete and backpack, I step gingerly forwards, squinting against the unaccustomed glare, peerin... upwards into the blue-speckled green. There. Up there. Oh, my god. Reclining in the crook of a branch. A male. Undoubtedly a male. Broad shoulders. Muscled buttocks and thighs. Lank, matted hair dripping from his bearded head. His flesh - not ghostly pale as legends suggest, but bronzed and gleaming - ripples with his every indolent move, the. ?You strip.?The video photographer spoke to the leader, as he hurried over with his camera.The leader, a bit exasperated, repeated himself after the photographer put the camcorder to his shoulder.?You’re slaves and you’ll do as told. Strip.??Um,? Lisa said, ?Am I supposed to have lines? I don’t know my lines.?The man slapped her across the face. Lisa would have fallen but for the slaver gripping her arm and jerking her upright as her knees buckled. Tears sprang to her face.?Stop it!? she. More

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