Leifur awoke with a gasp. His eyes darted around the common house he and his hated workmate, Kodrir, shared. "Another one of those blasted nightmares," the young Nord murmured to himself. Leifur glanced over at Kodrir, worrying that he may have awakened the ill-tempered lumberjack. His fears were relieved when Kodrir let out a snore and rolled over. "Thank Heavens." Leifur pulled his thin sheets off the floor and covered himself with them. He sighed and closed his eyes tight. He shivered; the common house unarguably did not have the thickest walls in Skyrim. That, coupled with the bitter weather of The Pale, made most nights cold and miserable.
As he lay in bed gazing at the ceiling, Leifur's thoughts went to the nightmare which had awakened him; it had been about his father's death. When Leifur was a teenager, his father was killed during a Forsworn attack on his childhood home of Markarth. He remembered watching as one of the Witchmen of Highrock cut his father down with the hack of an axe and tossed his corpse into the river flowing through the city. Ever since then, Leifur was plagued with disturbing nightmares recounting the horrific event.
Leifur rolled over and tried to put his mind on something else; he needed sleep, and he wasn't get any thinking about something that brought him so much pain.
Yawning, Leifur felt himself beginning to become somnolent. His eyes began to become heavy, and his breathing slowed. Eventually, Leifur's eyes completely closed and he fell into slumber.
Another day of work had ended.
Another day in the life of Leifur the lumberjack had come to a finish.