The sun was nearly up when the forest broke for the plains. Mabel hadn't been running for a long time, the sense of urgency had been lost when she'd been allowed to simply walk out of the pasture. That didn't mean she wasn't tired as all hell. She had left right around moonrise, punching in the code to the gate through a hole she'd managed to wiggle into the post. She hadn't been as strong as she thought, the hole had taken a while to make. And with how slow her awkward, wobbling run had become, the milk production cocktail they'd been feeding her since she became of age was definitely showing in how meager she'd gotten.
She had expected something, she wasn't sure what, alarms, flashlights striking the woods in the dark, some sort of effort to stop a prized milk Holstaur from just wandering out of the pasture. It only occurred to her when the moon was about midway across the sky and her legs and lungs were burning from trying to lug around her bouncing drug-plumped hips and breasts that she'd never heard a siren in her time with Holgate. Even when a stud had broken from the pen, shocking considering how much harder it was to maintain a stud and how much more careful they were not to lose one. Any female could be penned in and fed hormones until they gushed milk and stared ahead glassy-eyed waiting to be bred, but the naturally smaller frame of most holstaurs was better suited for fat, not muscle. Perhaps Mabel was just another runaway that could be written out of the costs, perhaps they all were. Mabel wasn't going to wait around giving them milk until she learned how expendable, or breedable, she was.
When the forest gave way to the plains, it was both a relief and a disappointment. The plains represented food, somewhere she could stay during the day before continuing her run, but she had also expected to see the Minotaurs in the woods. That's where she'd first caught a glance of them however long ago, that's where she'd gotten the idea. Once she realized that the treeline wasn't as much of the edge of the natural world as she thought it had been growing up, it was a lot to take in for a captivity-bred holstaur. But she needed to see what was out there, even if she wouldn't fit in.
The Minotaurs would pass the pens only very rarely. Supposedly it was a sad sight for them, something living in the pens made it hard to understand. They would come occasionally and leer at the women, make obscene comments and gestures. The men, they simply pitied. They'd tried to break out both on some occasions, but their big hands were horrible for working small keyfobs, and the pasture barricades were too much for even their strength. The few times they managed to get even one out, Mabel would never see that Holstaur again. It was easy to pen in and capture a lone wild Holstaur, even a herd could be handled, but nobody fucked with the Minotaurs. Holstaurs lost to the Minotaurs didn't warrant searches, hence her plan.
Mabel sat down, it wasn't a collapse, but she realized as soon as she had finished the process that she was going to need to rethink getting back up, at least for a while. She grabbed a handful of grass and clover and started chewing. Of course, it was the same greenery that she had on offer in the pasture, but it couldn't help but taste a little better. It was covered in early dew, a fact that became doubly apparent a moment later as she felt the seat of her trousers start to dampen.
The clothes from the farm weren't fancy, in fact, they were mostly designed with easy access to the tits and the holes as their first concern. It occurred to her that, when she'd seen the Minos, she'd seen them walking around without so much as a loincloth, letting their sheathes hang out. Clothes were very much a human thing. The farmers didn't mind if you didn't wear them but some, especially some of the newer ones, got pretty uncomfortable. That mixed with Mabel's desire to keep their minds off of how it was getting to be time to breed her led to her wearing them more than most.
But that was in the past now. She'd worn them out of necessity, that didn't mean she had to like them. She slid her shirt up over her head first, immediately shivering as the night air hit her body. Immediately, her brain screamed she was making a mistake, but she slowly adjusted to the cool air. It was somewhat nice on her sore breasts. The running and walking had not helped with their usual early-morning fullness. It almost certainly wasn't natural for a girl her age with no calves to be making as much as she did, but the farm chemists were pros. She'd never milked herself before, never had to. She'd seen it done by hand enough times that she could surely mimic the technique if she needed to. If the ache got bad enough.
For now, though, that was the last thing she needed to be doing. She could tell, the second that post-milking bliss hit, she was probably going to be out like a light after the night she'd had. Even with her nipples hard and practically begging for release, she needed to put it off until she found somewhere safe to sleep. She grabbed another handful of grass, then, when it was in her mouth, she awkwardly tried to slide out of her pants without getting back up onto her sore hooves. Perhaps if the farmers found her clothes at the beginning of the field, they would assume she was swooped up by some predator or picked up by another farm's searchers. Although, maybe the (hopeful) truth that she'd gone to join a Mino herd would be the most dissuading for pursuers.
She finally kicked out of her mostly-removed pants and made it official, sitting back and chewing slowly, outside of her pen and naked as possible, aside from the small ear tag. No way she could get rid of that, not without a farmer's keyring or freakish strength. The minotaurs would hopefully be able to provide one, but it wouldn't actually matter. All it was was a symbol of ownership. Without somebody around to point to it as theirs, it was just a gaudy earring.
Mabel grabbed one more handful before trying to rise back to her feet. Her legs weren't as sore as she'd expected, but her hooves definitely ached. Walking over and through shrubbery would do that. She took a few determined steps forward up the hill she'd been sitting at the bottom of, she would make it to the top, then find somewhere to sleep. The hope was that the stamping of hooves would wake her, or that she'd wake up the next night and be able to search some more.
Fortunately, no sooner had she reached the top of the little hill than she gave a gasp of delight. A spattering of small tents was gathered down near a river, dark-furred bodies could be seen moving around them. From their size, there was no doubt, wild Minotaurs! In only one night of travel, she'd made it! Immediately surging with new energy, she started down the hill as fast as her hooves could carry her.
Almost immediately, the newfound strength gave way to the pain in her hooves and the hard-to-handle weight in her tits. She made it to the bottom of the hill less bursting with energy and more dripping with determination... and lots of sweat. As she staggered onward toward the camp, it started to really sink in how big the open world was. What she had thought of as the other side of the pen seemed to stretch farther and farther. So much farther that by the time she could smell the smoke of the campfire, some of the Minos in the camp had taken notice of her. One of them nodded to his friends, then strode over to her casually, crossing the distance with what seemed like effortlessly massive strides. The top of Mabel's head came up to the bottom of his chest. Mabel couldn't help but notice his swinging balls and pouch, not far below face height.
"Halt, traveler, that's close enough." He grunted, his voice surprisingly stern.
"Aw... man..." Mabel huffed, despite her brain screaming in protest at the first impression she was making, "You guys are... further out than I thought..."
"By the look of you, a farm escapee. That would explain your lack of experience and muscle. As well as your... udders..."
Mabel's life had revolved around her chest for too long to be too embarrassed, even then, the fact that it was him saying it did make her face a little hot.
"Yeah... Holgate."
"A runaway, or...?"
"Yeah! Name's Mabel!"
The guard looked at her suspiciously long enough for it to start to feel awkward.
"Orkan."
"Cool! Uh... can I live with you guys?"
The Minotaur looked Mabel up and down with something that seemed like pity, then sighed.
"I am sorry, little one, but we have made it a policy to not take in runaway Holstaurs."
Mabel felt her stomach drop, "But... but why not?"
"The farms already cause a large amount of trouble for us. If one knew we were housing stock, it could threaten our way of life."
Mabel pouted, "You can't send me back! You don't know what it's like in there!"
The guard stood his ground, not speaking. He also didn't want to make eye contact with her, Mabel took that as a sign he could be pleaded with.
"Please! I can do whatever you guys want! I'll clean your tents, I'll cook your food, I'll let you guys rut me if you have to! Just let me stay with you."
"It is not my decision." Came back the stony answer.
Mabel pouted harder, sticking out her puffy bee-stung lips and crossing her arms over her aching udders. "Then let me talk to whoever's decision it is! Your farm owner or lead tender or whoever!"
"You mean our chieftain?"
"Yeah! Whoever!"
The guard huffed, then nodded.
"Fine, but I promise you, his answer will not be different."
Mabel restrained herself from jumping for joy. Instead smiling and giving what she was sure was a polite and respectful nod. The Minotaur took two steps back to camp. Mabel took a single step trying to follow and immediately fell back onto her ass.
"Uh... could you... carry me, also?"
The guard huffed again, then threw Mabel over his shoulder effortlessly. Her breasts sloshed heavily with his massive steps as he took her through camp and into the biggest tent. As soon as the flaps opened, Mabel heard a promising conversation.
