I strolled across the wooden bridge, the planks creaking softly under my armored boots. The small island housing Riverwood's lumber mill was busy with activity. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut pine and the sound of axes biting into wood. Burly men hefted logs, their muscles straining beneath sweat-soaked tunics.

My eyes landed on a broad-shouldered man with grey hair barking orders. He carried himself with the easy authority of someone used to being in charge. This had to be Hod.

I approached, offering a friendly grin. "Morning! Orgnar over at the Sleeping Giant mentioned you might need an extra pair of hands around here?"

The man turned, his eyes squinting against the sun as he sized me up.

"That so?" he said. He wiped sawdust-covered hands on his trousers before extending one. "Name's Hod. Run this mill with the wife, Gerdur." A hint of pride crept into his tone at the mention of his partner. "And you'd be...?"

"Alex," I replied, extending my hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Hod's calloused palm engulfed mine in a firm handshake. "Well met, Alex. You look plenty strong, but have you ever worked a mill before?"

I shook my head, feeling a bit sheepish. "Can't say I have, but I'm a quick learner and not afraid of hard work."

Hod nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Honesty. I like that. We've got a big order to fill for Whiterun, so we could use the help if you're willing to learn."

"Absolutely," I said eagerly. "What sort of tasks would I be doing?"

"To start, mostly hauling logs and stacking finished planks," Hod explained, gesturing around the mill. "In a couple of days, you might even go out with some of the other workers to start chopping trees.”

I nodded along, trying to look more confident than I felt. "Sounds good to me. Uh, just out of curiosity... what's the going rate for this kind of work these days?"

Hod's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone remained neutral. "Eight septims an hour to start. Ten if you prove particularly useful." He paused, studying my face. "That work for you?"

I chewed my lip, doing some quick mental math. Eight septims an hour... if I worked a full day, say ten hours, that'd be 80 septims. Minus 50 for a room at the inn and 20 for a decent meal, I'd have 10 septims left over. Not exactly rolling in riches, but it beat starving or sleeping in the woods with the wolves. And if I could work my way up to that 10 septims an hour rate, I’d have enough for an extra meal. I’d probably need to forage for some extra food in the wilds if I wanted to stay full, but I needed this safety net…

"Yeah, that works for me," I said, trying not to sound too eager. "When can I start?"

Hod gave me a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Eager beaver, aren't you?" He chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "But you might want to change out of that sturdy armor first," he added, tapping my iron breastplate with a calloused knuckle. "Can't have you overheating or getting caught in the machinery. Come back in some proper work clothes, and we'll set you up with your first task."

I glanced down at my gleaming armor, feeling a bit foolish. "Right, of course," I said, heat creeping up my neck. "Didn't really think that through. I'll head back to the inn and change. Won't be long!"

"Take your time," Hod called as I turned to leave, amusement clear in his voice. "We'll be here all day."

I gave a quick wave and headed back across the bridge, the wooden planks creaking under my boots. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, and I could already feel sweat beading under my armor. Yes, changing was definitely a good call.

I pushed open the door to the Riverwood Trader, the scent of herbs and leather filling my nose. My eyes darted around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Camilla's pretty face, but no such luck. Just Lucan, hunched over his ledger behind the counter.

"Morning, Lucan," I called out, approaching the wooden counter. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have any backpacks, would you?"

Lucan's face lit up, that merchant's gleam in his eye. "As a matter of fact, I do!" He ducked beneath the counter, coming up with a bundle of brown fur. "Just got this beauty in. Genuine bear fur, tanned and treated by the Khajiit caravans." He ran his fingers through the soft pelt. "Waterproof, warm, and it'll hold more than you'd think. Only 144 septims!"

I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inwardly, I winced. 144 septims... that was a hefty chunk of my remaining coin. But the alternative – trying to explain why I had clothes that seemingly appeared out of thin air – well, that seemed like a headache I'd rather avoid.

"You drive a hard bargain, Lucan," I said with a wry smile, reaching for my coin purse. "But I'll take it."

Coins and fur exchanged hands, and I gave a half-hearted wave as I pushed back out into the street, the backpack clutched in my hand.

I once more pushed open the wooden door of the Sleeping Giant Inn. The common room was alive with chatter and laughter, very different to the quiet of last night. My eyes were drawn to the source of the lively music filling the air – the young man I'd spotted yesterday, his fingers dancing nimbly across the strings of a lute. Sven, I reminded myself, though I couldn't exactly introduce myself with that knowledge.

Walking through the crowd, I made my way to the bar. Orgnar was deep in conversation with a blonde woman, their heads bent close as they discussed... garlic, of all things. I waited patiently, catching snippets about dwindling supplies and rising prices.

When there was a lull in their chat, I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, I'd like to keep the room for another night, if that's alright."

The blonde woman – Delphine, I realized with a start – turned to me, her sharp eyes seeming to take in every detail. "That'll be 50 septims," she said, her tone businesslike as she extended her hand.

I nodded, fishing out my coin purse. The weight of it was alarmingly light as I counted out the coins. Delphine's fingers closed around the septims, and she jerked her chin towards the familiar door. "Same room as last night. Enjoy your stay."

Murmuring my thanks, I retreated to the relative quiet of my rented space. As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I let out a long breath. Time to get to work.

First things first – I needed to change. The iron armor clanked loudly as it hit the floor, replaced by the softer whisper of linen against skin. The tunic was a bit itchy, but a lot more practical for a day of manual labor.

Next, I eyed the fur backpack, its rich brown pelt gleaming in the light. I put it in my inventory, and pulled up its description panel.

Fur Backpack - Brown

Increases carrying capacity by 70 points.

I blinked, reading the words again to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Seventy points? That was... amazing. With this beauty, I could haul around 168 units instead of 98. It alleviated a lot of my initial worries that I couldn’t carry much out in the wilds because of my low weight limit.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I stared at the pile of iron armor, chewing my lip as indecision gnawed at me. Leave it or take it? The sensible part of my brain screamed caution – better safe than sorry, right? But another voice, soft and insidious, whispered about the convenience of a clean inventory, the ability to just... reset if it got stolen.

I shook my head violently, banishing the thought. No. Dying wasn't some magical reset button to be used on a whim. It was traumatic, painful, and for all I knew, there might be a limit to how many times I could cheat the Reaper.

With a sigh, I scooped up the armor and put it all in my inventory. Who was I kidding? The thought of being caught without it made my skin crawl. What if bandits decided Riverwood looked ripe for the picking? Or a pack of wolves got bold? If push came to shove, I could be fully armored in the blink of an eye.

Besides, it's not like anyone was going to rifle through my rented room. And even if they did, they probably wouldn’t go through both the wardrobe and chest, right? No, better to keep it close. You never know when a suit of armor might be the only thing standing between you and a painful death.

Satisfied with my decision, I straightened my tunic and headed for the door. Time to see if I had what it took to be a lumberjack.

oo0ooOoo0oo

Hod spotted me from across the yard and waved me over.

"There you are, lad," he said, eyeing my new attire with approval. "Much better. Now, let's get you started." He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Gunnar! Got a fresh pair of hands for you!"

A grizzled man with salt-and-pepper hair and arms like tree trunks ambled over after putting away a massive log.

"Gunnar, this is Alex. Show him the ropes, would you?" Hod clapped me on the shoulder before walking off to oversee another part of the mill.

Gunnar's handshake was firm enough to make my bones creak. "Welcome aboard, boy. You look strong enough, but strength ain't everything in this job. Follow me."

He led me to a pile of freshly cut logs, their sap still oozing. "First thing's first - lifting technique. You want to save your back for when you're my age." He demonstrated, bending at the knees and lifting with his legs. "Like so. Give it a try."

I mimicked his movements, surprised at how easy it felt. The log's weight was substantial, but nothing my new muscles couldn't handle. Gunnar nodded approvingly.

"Good, good. Now, we're taking these beauties over to the saw." He jerked his head towards the water-powered sawmill. "Watch your footing on the way. Wouldn't be the first greenhorn to take a dip in the river."

The rhythmic thud of axes and the whine of the sawmill filled the air as Gunnar and I worked, sweat beading on our brows under the warm sun. Between grunts of exertion, he'd toss out bits of advice or the latest village gossip, his loud voice carrying easily over the noise.

"Heard about Sven's latest attempt to woo Camilla?" Gunnar chuckled, hefting a log onto his shoulder. "Boy's got the romantic sense of a troll. Wrote her a poem comparing her eyes to pickled eggs. Can you believe it?"

I snorted, nearly dropping my own log. "Pickled eggs? That's... certainly unique."

Gunnar shook his head, a grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Aye, unique's one word for it. Poor lad's about as subtle as a mammoth in a pottery shop."

As we stacked freshly cut planks, Gunnar's tone shifted, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Say, you hear about old Hilde's latest ravings? Swears up and down she saw a dragon, black as night and big as the mountain itself."

I froze for a heartbeat, my hands still gripping a plank. "A dragon?" I managed, hoping my voice didn't betray my sudden unease. "That's... quite a tale."

Gunnar let out a bark of laughter. "Aye, and about as believable as a troll learning to dance. Old woman's got a few screws loose, if you ask me. Dragons! Ha! Next thing you know, she'll be claiming the Greybeards invited her for tea."

I forced a chuckle. "Right, of course. Dragons. Imagine that."

The hours melted away in a haze of sweat and sawdust. My muscles burned with a satisfying ache, and by the time the sun began its descent towards the horizon, we'd transformed a small hill’s worth of logs into neatly stacked planks.

Bjorn, a barrel-chested Nord with a laugh like rolling thunder, gave me a hearty slap on the back as we finished up. "Not half bad for a greenhorn, lad! Keep this up, and we might make a proper lumberjack out of you yet."

I grinned, wiping sawdust from my brow. "Thanks, Bjorn."

Gunnar glanced at the setting sun. "Alright, lads, time to call it a day. Alex, swing by Hod before you head out. He'll sort you out with your pay."

I walked over to Hod’s shed that acted as a little office, my muscles aching in that satisfying way that comes from a hard day's work. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, casting long shadows across the lumber yard.

Hod looked up from his ledger as I approached, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Well now, looks like you survived your first day," he said. "Gunnar tells me you've got a good head on your shoulders."

"Thanks," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "It was tough, but... I enjoyed it, actually."

Hod nodded, reaching into a pouch at his belt. "Nine hours today, at eight septims an hour..." He counted out the coins, the soft clink of metal on metal oddly satisfying. "That's 72 septims. Fair pay for fair work."

I accepted the coins, their weight reassuring in my palm. "Much appreciated, Hod. Say, would it be alright if I came back tomorrow?"

"Aye, we could use the help," Hod replied, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "If you're serious about it, come by an hour earlier than you did today. We start at dawn, and there's always plenty to do."

I nodded eagerly. "I'll be here, bright and early."

As I turned to leave, Hod called out, "Oh, and Alex?" I glanced back, and he gave me a knowing look. "Might want to soak those hands of yours tonight. Trust me, you'll thank me in the morning."

I looked down at my palms, noticing for the first time the angry red blisters forming. "Right," I chuckled. "Thanks for the tip."

I dragged my feet back towards the Sleeping Giant Inn, and my stomach growled loudly, reminding me just how long it had been since that meager breakfast.

Pushing open the inn's door, I was hit by a wall of noise and warmth. The place was packed, every table filled with villagers unwinding after a long day. Laughter and snatches of conversation mingled with the strumming of Sven's lute in the corner.

I made my way to the bar, where Orgnar was frantically pouring drinks and ladling out bowls of something that smelled divine. When I finally caught his eye, I had to shout to be heard over the din.

"What's on the menu tonight?"

Orgnar grunted, not breaking stride as he filled another tankard. "Venison stew. Water to wash it down. Twenty septims."

My mouth watered at the thought. I fished out the coins, sliding them across the sticky bartop. Orgnar nodded, handing over a steaming bowl and a cup of water. The rich aroma of herbs and meat made my stomach rumble even louder.

As I turned, searching for an empty spot to enjoy my meal, a familiar voice called out over the noise. "Oi! Alex!"

I spotted Gunnar waving from a crowded table near the fire. He jerked his head, inviting me over. Carefully balancing my food and drink, I made my way through the press of bodies.

"Pull up a chair, lad!" Gunnar boomed, shoving aside to make room. "Let's see if you can hold your mead as well as you hold those logs!"

I grinned, settling in beside him. "Thanks, but I think I'll stick to water tonight. Don't want to oversleep and miss my second day on the job."

Gunnar let out a bark of laughter, clapping me on the back hard enough to make me wince. "Smart man! Hod would have your hide if you showed up late and hungover."

He turned to the others at the table, a motley crew of mill workers and farmers I vaguely recognized from around town. "Lads, this here's Alex. New blood at the mill, and not half bad with an axe for a greenhorn."

A bunch of greetings and good-natured ribbing followed. I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks warm at the attention. "Ah, come on. I just did what I was told."

"And that's more than some can manage their first day," chimed in a red-headed woman to my left. She extended a calloused hand. "Name's Greta. I work the mill too, when I'm not tending my crops."

As I shook her hand, Gunnar leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't let her modest farmer act fool you," he stage-whispered. "Greta here can outdrink half the men in Riverwood and still be up at dawn to milk the cows."

Greta rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of pride in her smile. "Aye, and don't you forget it, you old goat."

The table erupted in laughter, and I found myself swept up in the camaraderie. Between bites of the rich stew (which was every bit as delicious as it smelled), I listened to the ebb and flow of conversation around me. There were complaints about the weather, speculation on crop yields, and no small amount of gossip.

"Did you hear about Faendal and Sven?" Bjorn leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief. "Word is, they nearly came to blows over Camilla again."

Gunnar snorted into his mead. "Those two idiots are liable to kill each other before either of them works up the courage to actually court the girl properly."

I found myself relaxing, and for a moment, I could almost forget the strangeness of my situation, the threats I knew were out there. Here, in this cozy inn surrounded by hardworking folks, I felt... normal.

The night wore on, and I stifled a yawn. The long day was catching up with me, and the thought of my rented bed was becoming more appealing by the minute.

"I think I'd better turn in," I said, pushing back from the table. "Early start tomorrow and all that."

Gunnar nodded approvingly. "Good lad. Get some rest – we've got a big shipment coming in, and I'll need those muscles of yours fresh."

I bid goodnight to the table, their cheerful farewells following me as I made my way to my room. As I closed the door behind me, muffling the noise from the common room, a wave of exhaustion hit me. I barely managed to strip off my dusty clothes before collapsing onto the bed.