They left the inn, and the fresh morning air was a momentary relief. Their horse, Shadow, was tied to a post, calm. It was Lyra who noticed first. "Esther... look at the front hoof," she said, her voice filled with concern. Esther followed her gaze. The horseshoe on the right foreleg was gone. The hoof's groove was bare and vulnerable. It wasn't an accident. It was a petty revenge, a final act of humiliation from the merchants to ensure her day also started badly. A wave of fury, pure and burning, coursed through Esther. For a moment, the previous night faded, and only the anger remained. "I'm going back there and I'm going to kill those sons of bitches!" she hissed, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword. She was willing to go back, to confront them, to risk it all. Anything was better than feeling so powerless. "No, Esther!" said Lyra, grabbing her arm with a strength that surprised Esther. "You're not going anywhere! What would you get? To be hanged for murdering three petty merchants? Would your horse be able to walk? No!". Her voice was firm, not with anger, but with unbreakable logic. "There's no one to blame. No enemy to face. It's just... a problem. And it has to be solved."
Esther's anger faded as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind an even deeper exhaustion. Lyra was right. Who could she blame? Who could she challenge? The problem had no face, only a practical and boring solution. "And what do we do?" Esther asked, her voice flat, defeated. "We find a blacksmith," Lyra said with simplicity. The journey was a slow torture of humility. There was no blacksmith in the village. The nearest was several hours away, on an isolated farm. They couldn't ride the horse; it would cause a serious injury. So they had to walk. Esther took Shadow's reins and started walking, the horse trotting slowly beside her. Every step was a reminder of her powerlessness. Lyra walked beside her, not speaking, just accompanying her in her silence. At one point, Lyra, feeling much closer to Esther, gathered courage and took her hand. The gesture was enough to calm Esther's thoughts and make the three-hour journey not feel like an eternity. The sun warmed their backs, the dust of the road stuck to their skin, and every time another traveler passed, Esther felt they were looking at her, that they knew she was the girl who had to walk next to her own horse.
Finally, they arrived at the farm. An elderly man, with a back bent from years of work, and a kind face wrinkled with age, opened the door for them. He listened to their story with patience. "Ah, the ones from the Boar inn... yeah, they're good people," he said with irony, but then shook his head. "Girls, I can't leave my work. The harvest doesn't wait." He saw the expression of desperation on Esther's face and then looked at Lyra, with her nun's habit. His eyes softened. "But... my wife. She's sick. She's had a cough for weeks that won't go away. The village healer hasn't done anything." He looked at Lyra. "If you... if the Goddess has given you the gift of healing... and you pray for my wife... I'll fix your horseshoe. And I won't charge you a single coin."
It was a fair exchange. An act of faith for an act of skill. Lyra agreed immediately. While the farmer worked on the horse's hoof, Lyra entered the small cottage. Esther stayed outside, watching as the farmer, with expert and quick hands, heated the metal and shaped it. It was hard, honest, useful work. Everything she didn't feel at that moment. When the farmer finished, the horseshoe was as good as new. Lyra came out of the house with a small smile. "The Goddess has heard her. She'll rest better tonight." The farmer thanked them, and they him. As they walked away, this time with Esther riding Shadow, she felt relief, but also something more. It wasn't the victory of a battle won or the satisfaction of revenge fulfilled. It was the quiet calm of a problem solved.
The path grew progressively more difficult. The dirt road faded, giving way to a terrain of steep, rocky hills. Progress was slow, and the midday sun beat down without mercy. Just as they considered stopping, they heard a rhythmic, heavy sound: that of a hammer striking rock, followed by a guttural grunt. Around a bend in the path, the landscape opened up to reveal a scene that left them speechless. A group of half a dozen minotaurs were working hard on building a new road, cutting and moving enormous rocks with superhuman strength. They were imposing beings, with muscular torsos, bull heads, and horns that gleamed under the sun. They wore little clothing, only thick leather loincloths, and their bodies glistened with sweat. As they watched from a distance, one of them stopped and sniffed the air. He turned his enormous head and his dark, deep eyes fixed on them. He recognized Lyra. He dropped his pickaxe and approached, his heavy steps making the ground tremble slightly. He was the same one she had healed in the village. "Healer," he said, his voice a deep but not hostile growl. Lyra stepped forward, without fear. "What are you doing?" Lyra asked. "Work," the minotaur replied, with a tone of resignation. "The field owners. One minotaur from each farm. They've sent us to renew the road. The work is very hard. We have a deadline. If we don't finish it before the full moon... we will be whipped." The injustice of the situation struck Lyra. "It's not fair," she said. "It's life," the minotaur responded with a shrug. Lyra turned to Esther. "We have to help them." Then she addressed the minotaur. "I cannot move rocks, but I can heal the injured. Send me the wounded." The minotaur nodded with gratitude. Meanwhile, Esther, feeling the need to contribute something, offered to help with the physical labor. She was assigned to work alongside the same minotaur who had spoken to them.
Lyra settled in a small clearing apart, with her bag of herbs and rats. It wasn't long before the first patient arrived, a young minotaur who had cut his forearm on a sharp slab. Lyra performed the transfer ritual, and as the blue light healed the wound, her eyes couldn't help but stray. As before, the minotaur's enormous member hardened, rising with a life of its own, an involuntary testament to the vitality returning to his body. Lyra blushed intensely, struggling to maintain her composure. When the minotaur left, grateful, Lyra was left alone. The sun warmed her skin, the air was filled with the sound of heavy work and the smell of male sweat. The desire she had been holding back for days, exacerbated by Esther's humiliation and their constant proximity, became an uncontrollable urge. She hid behind a group of bushes, pulled down her trousers, and slid her hand under her underwear, towards the damp heat that consumed her. She began to masturbate with a desperate urgency, her fingers moving fast, seeking the relief she so desperately needed. Just as the climax began to build, a shadow fell over her. She opened her eyes and saw another minotaur standing there, watching her with a simple, non-judgmental curiosity. There was no lust in his gaze, only a silent question. "Need help?" he asked, offering to have sex with a neutral voice.
Lyra froze, her hand still between her legs. Shame hit her like a wave. "N-no! Thank you!" she managed to say, her voice trembling. The minotaur shrugged, completely indifferent. "Okay. I'll let you finish." He turned and left with such absolute naturalness that left her stunned. There was no shame in him, no malice. Just a practical understanding of needs. Still, the moment was broken. Lyra, feeling dirty and confused, went back to masturbating, this time with more fury, reaching a quick, empty orgasm that left her trembling and more alone than before.
Esther began to work with a desperate ferocity, trying to prove her worth. She carried smaller stones, helped clear the rubble, but after a couple of hours, she was completely exhausted. Her muscles trembled, sweat ran down her back, and she struggled to breathe. The minotaur she was working with stopped and looked at her. "Stop," he said, his voice deep but not angry. "You can't work like this." Esther, frustrated and humiliated, asked why in a defiant tone. The minotaur was brutally honest. "With those clothes, I'm constantly looking at your ass, your tits, and even the outline of your sex when you bend over." He adjusted his loincloth. "I have an erection that hurts and won't let me concentrate. I can't work with you like this." Esther was speechless, feeling her cheeks burn. Respectfully, the minotaur asked, "Can you masturbate me?" "I've never... never done it," Esther admitted, her voice a whisper. "I can teach you," he said. He sat on a large rock, at a similar height to Esther. He opened his loincloth and his enormous cock, much larger than any human's, sprang out, already semi-erect. He took Esther's trembling hand and led it to his member, showing her how to move it, gently at first and then with more intensity. Esther felt the heat of his skin, the surprisingly soft texture over a steel hardness. When she found the rhythm, he let go of her hand.
While Esther masturbated him, the minotaur ran his hand over Esther's shoulder, lowering it slowly. Realizing she wasn't resisting, he slipped his hand under her shirt, pulled a breast out of her bra, and began to play with her nipple, which instantly hardened, sending an electric shock to her core. Esther got completely wet, a damp heat soaking her underwear, but she didn't dare touch herself. The minotaur stopped her. "You have to learn to do it another way too," he said. Obediently, Esther let herself be guided. She knelt between his legs, her face very close to his cock. "Continue from there," he ordered. Esther continued to masturbate him, her hand moving up and down the hot, hard shaft, her other hand massaging his testicles. He didn't tell her to suck it, and it didn't occur to her to do so. Finally, with a deep grunt, the minotaur ejaculated, filling Esther's face with an enormous amount of hot semen, emptying his testicles. He stroked her head as if she were a pet, and his member, now flaccid, hit her face one last time before he stood up and left, leaving her there kneeling.
Esther remained, her face dripping, feeling she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted to masturbate, desperate to relieve the tension consuming her, but she was afraid that if she did, she might accidentally lose her virginity. She wanted to resist, but she didn't know how. She asked her brother for help, but his voice was cold and distant: "I'm not getting involved in this matter." Esther cried in desperation, her face full of semen, trapped in a body that felt alien, longing for a relief she didn't know how to get without breaking the last barrier she had left. She rested for a while, until she cleaned herself with the back of her hand and returned to collaborate with the others, her body moving on autopilot, while her mind was elsewhere, lost in a sea of confusion and unsatisfied desire.
Finally, after collaborating with them all day and helping them advance their work, Esther, very sexually frustrated, and Lyra, finally satisfied, set off again to continue on their way. They were now relatively close to Dry Port and expected to arrive the next day. The day's labor had left them both exhausted in different ways. Esther walked with a stiffness that was only partly from the physical work, her mind still replaying the events with the minotaur, a confusing mix of shame and a lingering, unfulfilled ache. Lyra, on the other hand, carried a quiet stillness, her earlier release having tempered the constant thrum of her desire. As they made camp that night, the silence between them was heavier than before, filled with all the things they had done and not said. Esther kept her distance, tending to the horse with a focused intensity that was meant to look like diligence, but was really a barrier. Lyra watched her, a flicker of concern in her eyes, but she didn't press. She knew that some wounds needed space, and that their journey was changing them both in ways they were only just beginning to understand.